


White Rabbit

by BlueEyedBetaMeow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mate Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Scott, Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Werewolf Lore, Beta Derek, Domestic Derek, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Stiles, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ghost Talia Hale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mountain lions are not a lie, Nogitsune Trauma, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Peter is actually a pretty cool guy, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Sassy Peter Hale, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, The Nematon is being sassy, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Wolf Stiles, by bad friend I mean total dick, post 3b, werewolf heterochromia, wolf heterochromia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedBetaMeow/pseuds/BlueEyedBetaMeow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles begins to piece together that his friends are avoiding him, and why, he begins to wonder why they ever saved him from the Nogitsune to begin with. When a terrible turn of events takes place in the Preserve, and the only thing that can save him is the bite, will the pack forget the misgivings between them, or will he be left to suffer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Ties have Come Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Further tags to be added as the story progresses. Chapter two is already in the works.

**Our Ties Have Come Undone**

It was funny how fast jitters could be relieved once the threat that caused them was no longer in sight. In this case, it was the ability to get out of bed that alleviated such tremors. The brunette teen had opened his eyes that morning and found the modest two story home to be strikingly quiet for the first time since he had learned how to speak. The usual strawberry-blond vulture looming over his bedside was missing; which had been his first wonderful clue. One that had actually caused him to breathe a sigh of relief so loud he had then been afraid that every werewolf in Beacon Hills would have been alerted to his plans and come charging after him, more than willing to put him back in his place. It wasn't so much that he had gotten sick of having the likes of Lydia Martin at his bedside so much as he had gotten sick of just lying in bed. He hadn't been able to so much as get up to go to the bathroom or get himself a cup of water ever since they had gotten rid of the Nogitsune and the Oni. Not without either her or his dad breathing down his neck like a couple of rabid dogs anyway.

He loved the both of them very much, but they were starting to  smother him. And despite popular opinion, he did not do smothering well. So, reveling in the stillness that seemed to have been missing from his life for the last several years, Stiles had sat on his mattress for a long moment, looking over at his full trash can, covered past capacity with empty orange Adderall and Xanax bottles. He swore the bright orange perscription bottles were mocking him in some way as they sat there, but at the moment he didn't have the resolve, energy or the time to do much about them. 

Sitting still had never been his strong suit, and forcing him to do so had not only made this obvious, but all the underlying problems worse. Deaton had told him that he'd had to take it easy after the Nogitsune had been dealt with, but he was pretty sure that this house arrest was going a bit far. The druid had said something about how making a duplicate of his body had taken an immense toll on a body that hadn't ever been meant to be a conduit for the magical forces racing within and through it, and he'd need a chance to recoup the natural energy that had been lost. Apparently, although he wasn't a supernatural being like his friends, he'd made enough of a connection to the Nematon to hemorrhage a great deal of magical energy when the Nogitsune had been in control of it.

Honestly, it had all sounded like something that would have killed a normal human to him. He should be dead, especially if you went with Deaton's explanation, where there was really no reason for him to still be alive. And if he remembered the events of that night well enough, it nearly had killed him. He could still remember how cold he had felt, how lifeless and listless. How fatigued and confused, shaken. His father had jumped on that information with his natural overbearing and overprotective demeanor born of being both a single parent and a long time county Sheriff to mean immediate and interminable bed rest.

But still, forcing a confirmed case of ADHD with natural panic tendencies into house arrest over something like that was more cruel and unusual even for his dad. Especially for his dad, knowing all the issues that he'd been through in his life. The psychiatrists, the therapists, his regularly appointed dates with the guidance councilors at school, of which his dad was well aware since he was still a minor. And the almost abusive rate at which he'd been taking his pills was proof positive of how much this was bothering him. He'd been taking way too much of both of them lately, and he knew that the behavior was worrying the Sheriff. Worrying him enough to be happy to leave him alone with Lydia, who thanks to recent events he now knew was a member of the growing supernatural community of Beacon Hills. Nothing could have worried him so much as having to leave his only child in Eichen House though. Seeing those CT scans either, the ones that had looked identical to his mother's. The last few months had been trying, disheartening, and not to mention horrific for the two of them. Hence why Stiles had been taking so many more of his anxiety pills lately. The Adderall was one thing, but he'd never been this dependent on his Xanex. Not since right after his mother had died, anyway.

As for the rest of his friends, the rest of his "pack" as they were starting to call themselves, he couldn't even begin to venture a guess on where they were or what they were thinking. Lydia had filled him in on bits and pieces of what happened while he'd been possessed by the Nogitsune. After what she'd said, he was surprised that she was actually the one who'd decided to sit around with him. Allison was gone, killed by an Oni under his control, after he had used Lydia herself as bait to turn them to his cause. Not only that, but Aiden had been killed as well. From what he had seen and understood of the two of them, the banshee and the former Alpha had been... close. He hadn't been able to understand why she'd been able to bring herself to come in and sit with him day after day while he healed from all the strain that had gone on within his body that time. She had to have a stronger character to her than even he had realized in the beginning.

But now, now they were gone. Lydia was who knew where. His dad was more than likely at work. Scott... well, Scott had never come in to visit him anyway, though Melissa had. She'd given the same motherly spiel that anyone would have expected her to give him. She'd said Scott was doing well, that he wasn't mad at him, just busy trying to keep the pack together. She'd filled him in on how Isaac had been doing, how he'd been wanting to leave Beacon Hills since Allison was gone now, and how Scott was trying to convince him to stay. All because of what he had done. Melissa tried to convince him otherwise that it had been the demon fox inside of him, and not his own actions that had done any of this. The fact that Isaac was hurting, and that his best friend hadn't even bothered to show up when he could have used a friendly face told the whole story, though. There was nothing Melissa could do to sugar-coat it for him.

He was glad though that his dad seemed to have gotten back to work, more than likely also thanks in part to Mrs. McCall. It didn't take werewolf hearing to take in the heavy footfalls of the sheriff even on the best of days, lately it had just gotten to be a bit ridiculous. But if there was one person that could get his dad to do something other than Stiles himself, for some reason it was Mrs. McCall. The fact that he couldn't discern anything in the house now meant that he was free to move about. First order of business was to peel out of the stale pajamas he'd been wearing for far to long. Next was a nice warm, though shower and a fresh flannel shirt over a tee that had been shoved far too liberally into a drawer when he'd been putting away laundry. He was actually surprised that his drawers still looked like that, after having had Lydia here and all. She had been long enough while he'd been sleeping to have wanted to organize, no doubt. But she'd left everything just the way it was, which made him wonder a bit. Maybe she'd just been doing homework for those smarty-pants college courses she was already enrolled in and he had never noticed. He shrugged it off as a coincidence as he moved from his bedroom down the hall to the bath.

The shower and new clothes made him feel a little bit better, but to be honest he was pretty sure that the only thing that would get him feeling human again was hearing the one sound that he had truly missed in the past few weeks. His fingers scrapped up the faded old key ring from the bowl by the front door as he made his way down to the first floor, locking it behind him. He hadn't heard the growl of the old Jeep since Derek had managed to drop it off from wherever it had been abandoned last, and hoped that when he turned the key in the ignition that the engine wouldn't end up seizing on him - again. The Stilinskis had never been anywhere near the definition of a rich family, but after the CT scans and the trip to Eichen, they didn't have the money for him to bring the beast down to a mechanic. Not that he particularly wanted to spend his first day of freedom sitting in one of their waiting rooms, either. He'd made sure to ask his dad to let the engine run for him at least once a week when the keys had been dropped off to them, but he knew that the old man had his reasons to shy away from the powder blue CJ-5. After all, it had belonged to Claudia, and his dad had been so messed up after her death that he hadn't been able to do anything with the thing for years after she'd been gone. And so, when it had come time for him to get his license, Stiles had taken it. It was the last thing he had of his mom. His dad had been happy to see the Jeep driving around again, but there had also been pain there. It was some sort of strange understanding that they two of them had, and never talked about. They just knew, and let each other grieve in their own way. 

A smile crawled across Stiles' face at the expectant creek of the thirty-year old door hinges as he opened them, crawling up onto the leather seats, turning the key in the ignition. He waited for a second and pumped his fists against the hard top in jubilation with an excited crow as he heard that rhythmic purring break through from the engine compartment. Knuckles smarting, the teen leaned forward, rested his head against the steering wheel, and ran a hand over the top of the dash, bringing up the dust of disuse in on his fingertips. "Thanks mom..." he murmured, his other hand finding the faded corners of an old picture that he kept tucked into the side of the instrument panel. It was of himself and his mother, before she got really sick, started forgetting who he was, the two of them playing some game of make believe or something, and he couldn't help but to trace the dusty outline of her as he shared that moment. He usually only reserved such hushed tones and talk to when he was completely alone and out of earshot of any supernaturals. Lately he just couldn't be sure of that and had just been resorting to calling the Jeep 'baby', but, it wasn't his baby, and that always felt wrong to him.  It had been her baby, other than him of course, and that was why the blue beasts' name was Roscoe. It had just stuck afterward. A little piece of Claudia Stilinski still left in this world that couldn't be lost to fading memories, stolen, smashed up by fool kids or- He frowned and refused to think of the abuse the jeep had been going through lately. "I love you mom." he murmured as he sat up straighter in the seat.

He didn't know where he was going to go, but he just wanted to drive. Get out of the house, off of the same old street, hell out of the state if he could. Unfortunately, his dad would probably put out an APB before he could get that far. So instead, he closed the squeaking driver's side door with another satisfied little sigh. He then leaned down to crank his window open, leaning over the seats to do the same with the passenger side window. Maybe the Widlife Preserve? It seemed to be about the only option he had left. It wasn't like he could go to the High School's field by himself and toss around a ball or two with his lacrosse stick. That wouldn't help anything at all. No, he needed Scott or Isaac or even Danny for that. But Danny had graduated, and he had a feeling that even if he wasn't prepping to go to whatever school he'd gotten into, he probably wouldn't want to run drills anyway. So Beacon Hills Preserve it was.

He'd driven all the roads between his house and the deep, dark woods so many times in the last few years that he could do it blindfolded by now. If, you know, it wasn't incredibly dangerous and down right illegal. It was at least a drive that he enjoyed. Unless there was a psychotic black druid hell bent on killing his dad and every other adult that he had ever liked for some stupid revenge plot. One that, by the way, had made him susceptible to that damned Nogitsune to begin with. A plot that hadn't even worked, by the way. He was happy when he got to the reserve, parked, and gotten out.

  The air out here was somehow more crisp, more clean than it was even in at his house, a few miles away from downtown, and the breeze knocked all the stale thoughts out of his head. There was no point in going over things that had happened last semester, not now anyway. Not when there was a day this beautiful to be enjoyed. Old leaves from previous seasons crunched under the souls of his converse as he walked to the chained wooden sign and used his long legs to step over it. There was a wide path here, one that had once been used for ATVS before the sheriff's department had restricted the use of vehicles in the reserve. 

He had always loved it out here ever since he was a little kid. He had the haziest memories of coming out here with his mom when his dad was at work, just hiking after school or on the weekends. He missed her a great deal, especially on days like today, when he could use a calming presence. Lately the place had taken on a darker sort of tone, what with dead bodies, crazed alpha werewolves, and homicidal werecoyotes out here. But yet, somehow, he still wasn't afraid. It was peaceful, quiet. Maybe it was those old memories of collecting pine cones and looking for the biggest acorn he could find. Whatever it was, out here he could get his thoughts in order and not worry about someone lurking over his shoulder. Someone like Lydia or his dad. He had to admit though, he wished that Scott was here with him. He missed having the familiar footfalls of his friend's too-worn-out sneakers behind his own. Hell, he even missed Scott's inane questions. 'Do you think Allison-?'

The name burned into Stiles' brain like a well heated brand against cool flesh, reminding him why Scott wasn't there right now. "Allison." he breathed, hiccuping a little after coming to a studdering stop in the middle of the pathway. Of course. That was it. It all came crashing down on him at once, like an avalance of books in the library. All the information that he had garnered about werewolves over the last few years, and everything that he knew about his best friend came together in a massive supernova that had him seeing spots. It was so simple, so clear. Scott might not come out and say it, but of course now that he was a werewolf at least part of him acted upon deep rooted instinct. He had loved Allison, and, possessed or not, Stiles had been the one who had taken that away. It was almost as if he was a heartless hunter who had shot the alpha's mate whether or not they were together at the time, at least to that instinctual part of Scott. 

"You're such an idiot..." he murmured to himself, sidestepping off of the path a piece to take a seat upon a downed log. His feet dragged through the leaf litter as he did so, leaving shallow trails of dirt in their wake. The fallen tree was covered in moss and lichen, smelling of rot and decay. Mocking him, just like the pill bottles back in his room, because it was the smell of what he felt right then. The decay of his friendship, of what was going on in his life, of the bonds within it. What had the wolves of Beacon Hills always said? The Hales always said? Especially since Scott had made ascended to the rank of an Alpha? That the McCall pack was one of the most unconventional that had ever been formed. Not only was it full of werewolves, but it also housed a banshee, a kitsune, whatever the hell Parish was, hunters and... up until recently, himself. Sure, the Hale pack had been inclusive of family members and mates that had not been born or changed wolves, had been human. According to some stories, though, they had been seen in a lesser light than the supernatural members of the family. It depended on who you talked to. Derek and Cora tended to ignore those tails... but Peter?

But this, this felt different. Different than those stories that that snake Peter twisted to make himself come out on top. This felt like ostracism. He hadn't felt this bad about anything since Lydia had thrown away his macaroni-art valentine in the third grade. It was an absolute crushing sort of hopelessness that made someone feel utterly alone. Dead inside. He couldn't help but to think what could have happened if the Nogitsune hadn't split from him when it had. Or if he hadn't had completed that sacrificial right with Allison and Scott. Would things have been any different? Would they have been able to save his dad and Argent and Melissa? He didn't know, but maybe he would have been able to keep his friends, keep his pack. The teen could feel his eyes stinging, like they hadn't since his mother had died. Looking for comfort, and only having himself for it, he brought his legs up close to him, tucking his head behind the sanctuary of his knees as he held them tight against his chest. A sob or two wracked him for long moments, and he wished that he had brought that stupid bottle of Xanex with him, as it almost felt as if he were on the verge of a panic attack. A bad one.

One of his hands snaked down into the pocket of his jeans, finding the outline of his phone and dragging it out. He held it in shaking fingers, a whimper moving past his lips as he peaked out from behind the sleeve of his over shirt. He needed help, needed his pills. He was recognizing the signs early, the rapid breathing and the inability to focus or calm down. However, as he looked down at the little device he shook his head, another thought coming to him. No. He couldn't call anyone when he was like this. He couldn't possibly be that pathetic, could he? His dad had finally gotten back to work, he wasn't going to drag him away from the station. 

And Lydia? No... he couldn't even think about calling Lydia either. As much as he hated to admit it, she was probably feeling the same way as Scott was. And that meant that she hadn't been staying with him to keep an eye on his health, but because she had felt pity for him. She was trying to be a sort of salve over a wound that she knew he would eventually figure out was there. The wound that he had caused himself by killing his own friends, with his own hands. Even if he couldn't remember doing it exactly. Even if it had only been a hazy sort of dream to him, like he had been a spectator to his own life as part of some twisted take on "A Christmas Carol". As if he'd been Scrooge forced to watch as his hands had twisted a katana in his best friend's stomach, as he had ordered the Oni to attack the pack... And to be condemned to have only the haziest of memories of it all. It was the worst. And she was trying to be good, and trying to be kind to him, giving him one last connection even though she was grieving for Aiden and Allison. The worst part was that he couldn't even talk about it. Not with them. Not with anybody. There was no one, no one at all, who would know what this had felt like. He was on his own. Completely cut off.

And the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. The more his body began to tremble, and his breath came in short, panting, aching gasps. His head popped up from a midst the folds of his flannel like a wine cork suddenly freed from its bottle as his honey-brown eyes immediately began searching for something off in the middle distance. Something in the atmosphere around him. A face, anything. Something that was familiar and safe. Something to run to, to bury himself in and never come out again if that was what it took. Like back when he was a little boy and his mother would fold him up with her in this giant frumpy quilt from the 70's when he was scared and they were alone at home. But there was nothing. Nothing there. No where to go. He couldn't even see the Jeep anymore from where he was, and for the life of him couldn't remember how long he'd been walking before he'd stopped. But his heart was racing, pounding, sprouting pain like daisies against his sternum. The jitters from before were coming back and worse now, worse than anything he'd felt in a long time. Probably because for the first time in his life, there was no safety net to catch him as he plummeted headlong into the throws of the attack. The last few times he'd had one, and they even hadn't held a candle to this, Scott and Lydia had both been there to get his mind off of things. 

Standing, spinning, not really seeing what was around him, dizzy with loss of control over his breathing, he tried to get his bearings. Nothing was coming to him, nothing at all. Not even the lessons from his therapist when he'd been younger, from when he'd had to learn to calm himself down, back when he and his dad hadn't been doing so well. The same one that had taught him to recognize the signs of the attacks. It was like his mind had just been wiped blank. Completely and utterly devoid of rationality, he just started to run, run in the first direction that looked safe, that looked open and free, at least in his mind. 

Clear wasn't so much the word that his body would have used for the path that his mind had taken though as branches and brambles stung at his face and arms. What rocks and broken branches that he couldn't manage to jump over in time in his wild flight he ended up tripping on. They cut into his jeans, his legs, picked at the fabric around him and into his skin. One such lucky object just happened to be on the leading edge of one of the many water fed ravines in the park. He tumbled head over heals, cursing as stones bit at his skin, bruising his muscles. When he hit the bottom finally, his face half covered in the mud from the brook that formed the bottom of the ravine he tasting blood on his lips and gave out a little whimper. His body ached, his chest heaved, but somehow, someway, he felt better. The anxiety was gone. Dissipated, as if by some of Deaton's magic. The physical exertion had worked it right out of him, even if he was now in a more physical, visceral sort of pain.

  His knees and his ankles screamed at him as he tried to stand, but he managed it, putting weight upon his shoulders and leaning against the walls of the steep gully. On his way vertical, he used his hands to start wiping dirt and leaves off of his now ruined clothing as much as he could. Blood stained the knees of his jeans, and the lower sleeves and elbows of his flannel shirt, where the fabric had been cut up by his less than graceful tumble. He grunted, shaking his head as he started to walk, feeling dizzy from some hit or another. Circling a bit, he tried to get his bearings, but no such luck. Great. Of course he wouldn't have known where he was at this point, after something like that. Dumbass.

The most he could do was just keep walking, he guessed. He hissed as he tried to put weight on one of his feet, immediately picking it back up when he reached its threshold. His ankle was messed up, great. Really... spectacular ending to a wonderful day. No more running, and who knew how far from the car he was now? A grumble passed through him as he followed the creek, looking for a way out of the steep ravine that he had just stumbled into. He wouldn't be able to climb out in this shape. He couldn't. His only hope was if the terrain happened to flatten out farther downstream. He just better get going. The sooner he found his way out of here, the sooner he could get back to Roscoe, and the sooner he could get home.

He was trying not to think too much as he walked. All he wanted now was to get back home and crawl back into bed. Maybe stay there for the rest of his life. Wasn't it funny how your perspective on something like that could flip after one little revelation? Just this morning all he had wanted to be out of bed. He had wanted to be away from everything, and in that moment he had condemned himself to thought, to knowing what was going on. And now here he was, all alone. In more ways than one. Or so he had thought.

The growling from behind him was what caught his attention. Not a growling that he had grown accustomed to. Not the guttural vibrato of a werewolf. Of the supernatural. No... this was something much more real, more natural, and far more menacing. And right behind him. Oh god.

He turned, the jitters once again coming back into his motions as a rigid hiss came to his ears. This however, was not from anxiety, but from sheer fear. Oh no. Oh no oh no. Out of all the times he'd been out here, he'd never ever run into any of the natural wildlife of the preserve. Of course it would have to be today that he met up with something. And it would have to have been a mountain lion and her cub. Claws reached out for him, and teeth, and there was no where for him to go, nothing for him to do except to try and make himself as small as possible. Try to make himself hard to get at. But with that cub...

Fire exploded across his skin in raking lines. His back, his chest. Punctures at the back of his neck that made his head pound as he tried to curl into a tightened ball against the onslaught. He didn't know how long it took for the cat to get bored with him, but when it did he was laying on his side, fingers clutching the shattered face plate of his phone. It had been all that he could do to dig it out of his pocket. He needed help, and he needed it now. His vision was failing, his world turning black, and he managed, just barely, to press the number of one of his contacts.


	2. In the Dead of Night, You Went Dark on Me

"You aren't even going to try to stop him?" Peter's voice resonated through the relative quiet of the loft. It's serpentine hissing slithering toward where Derek was sitting, looking over a chess board that he'd had set up for the last several weeks. He was still trying to figure out a few things about the game. Had been ever since they had found the one in Stiles' room. The same board that he had used to try and explain to his dad the myriad of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills. He still had questions about it. Questions that he could never ask, that he would as likely as not never be able to get answers to.

Especially not with his uncle looming over his shoulder and breaking his concentration every three seconds. "Isaac is free to make his own decisions. If he wants to leave, who am I to stand in his way?" He responded, not giving the older Hale the satisfaction of even so much as a sideways glance in his direction. He was not going to let Peter know that he was getting under his skin. That was what his uncle wanted, and everyone knew it. The best thing to do was to ignore him as much as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, there was only so much that the older Hale would take before he inserted himself into someone's life and livelihood. Just like now, when a snide snort parted from Peter's nose in response to his words, and he could imagine the man rolling his blue eyes as he spoke. "His alpha, for one." He said it in a droll, bored tone, as if he were addressing a toddler that would have known better.

"I may have turned Isaac, but Scott is the Alpha now. Or did you forget that?" The younger Hale retorted with a razor's edge to his voice, finally turning to only just look over his shoulder at Peter. He quirked one dark brow at his uncle, his hazel eyes as questioning as his tone of voice. Peter was insufferable at the best of times, but when he started to be questioning like this, it was just plain annoying. Unfortunately it wasn't something that they could blame on his resurrection, though it had seemed to have gotten worse since then.

"No, I haven't for-" Peter's scathing retort was reformed into a scathing growl by the vibration coming from his phone. Derek waved a hand to signal to his uncle to quiet as he reached over to the ringing device from where it rested upon the table. The name on the caller ID simply read 'Stiles' when he happened a quick glance down at it. Odd. What would he want? Normally it was Scott that had the impeccable timing when it came to calling him.

"What do you want, Stiles?" he asked, rolling his eyes as he answered, knowing that the kid couldn't see it, and that once the hyperactive little Junior got his breath about him and realized Derek had actually picked up his phone he would never get a word in edge wise. Such was the power of Stiles' mouth. And then he waited. And waited. But the kid's speedy little voice never came up. His eyes narrowed. 

"Stiles?" Still nothing. Not a voice anyway. But he could hear something. Breathing. Muffled, muted, rattled breathing, like some one far away shaking a paper bag full of air with a pin hole in one side. 

"Stiles!" he shouted, trying to get the boy's attention, because obviously he was there, and just not paying attention to his phone. Maybe he had gotten himself trapped somewhere. Maybe he had gotten cornered and there was someone or something far too close to allow him to speak just yet. Who knew with that one. All Derek knew was that for Stiles not to start off right away on a phone conversation, and to go a mile a minute once he was at it was not normal. Something was off.

"The little termite butt dial you again?"

His uncle's words were enough to cause a growl to rise in his throat. Couldn't Peter tell that he was trying to concentrate here? Something definitely wasn't right. Stiles could be impulsive, impetuous, hell even annoying at times. But the one thing he wasn't was a butt dial-er. With his phone he was far too careful. Immediately Derek terminated the line and stood, and within two strides he was at the door to the loft, pulling it open. The keys to the Toyota were already in his pocket. 

"Derek?" Peter called after him, as the younger of the two wolves had not offered up an answer for his own behavior, or what was going on. And he was not going to, either. Peter lied enough to everyone else, let him stew in not knowing the truth for a good, long while.

Derek was already out the door by the time Peter had even uttered his name, bounding down the stairwell a landing at a time. Each and every instinct in him was screaming that something was amiss. Something wasn't right. He was absolutely the last person that that Stiles would call for anything. The Sheriff, yes. Scott, sure. Lydia, abso-friggen-lutely. He was pretty sure that even Isaac and Kira ranked above him in Stiles' 'people to call in case of the end of the world' list. But that was before. Before the Nogitsune, before the killings, before all this foolishness with Scott. The former alpha had had nothing to do with any of it, and had been ashamed that Scott had even thought of such a thing. To think of the McCall pack without the scrawny little human was like imagining a boat without oars in the middle of a raging river. They would be completely lost in the current without him. The entirety of the pack knew how fragile humans could be, and especially Stiles. A little bought of possession had not changed that in the least. 

All these thoughts were racing through his mind on his way from the loft to the Stilinski home. It was the last place that he knew Stiles had been, the last place that anyone would have known he was, really. Deaton had told him to rest up, and his father was seeing to it that he was. If there was anything about that family that Derek knew not to doubt, it was the Stilinski resolve. So he didn't waste any time trying to call any of the other members of the pack as he navigated the streets of Beacon Hills. His reasoning was two fold, really. The first being the obvious, and the second that they were all loyal to Scott, would follow his lead. There was no way that any of them would have noticed anything out of the ordinary even if they had been bending the rules a bit. 

He was still a block away when he noticed that the Jeep was gone from the Stilinski's driveway. The eyesore was hard to miss, even without enhanced werewolf eyesight. He stopped just long enough to catch the scent of the unleaded gasoline that served as the fuel that Stiles loved to fill the old beast's tank with before setting off again. It was the only clue he had to go on. Unlike the young delinquent's father, he didn't have a GPS app with which to track the call that had come in to his own phone. Sure he had a good lock on Stiles' personal scent after having known him for the past few years, but that didn't help him if the boy wasn't on foot. This was the best way to narrow down where he would have gone. He kept his windows open, glad that it was the middle of a weekday, and so there was very little by way of toxic fumes in the air for his nose to have to sift through. Every few miles he took deep breaths, scenting, making sure that he was still going in the right direction. Derek wasn't at all surprised when his path diverged from the way that he knew Stiles more than likely would have used to get to the school. Besides, he didn't see the teen dialing him from there anyway, not during the day like this, and not after what had just happened to him. He honestly didn't see him going to the school after having almost died there. No, he was probably somewhere more-

A frown came to rest upon his features, furrowing his brow as he pulled up beside the thirty-year old Jeep at the entrance to the Preserve. It would have had to have been here. He exited his car with a practical slam of his door and inspected around the blue hunk of junk for any signs of Stiles. He enjoyed a good nature hike as much as the next man, but he wasn't incredibly sure about Stiles. Sure the boy was known to run around the woods at night, often after the pack on one of their adventures, trying to figure out the latest mystery, but this was not the same thing. It made Derek sigh in exasperation for about the hundredth time since he'd received that cell call, his eyes searching the ground for a wayward shoelace, a pill from an Adderall bottle, anything. But nothing came up, not to his human, nor his wolf eyes. At least his windows were open, and there was a sweatshirt from months ago still on the passenger's seat. It was a thin, red zip up, definitely something he'd seen Stiles wear before. On multiple occasions.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." he murmured to himself as he brought the cloth up through the open window to his nose, glad that the jeep wasn't equipped with a modern alarm system like his Toyota was. He was familiar enough with the scent of the skittish little spitfire, but a refresher course never hurt anybody, especially when you didn't know where they were. The Preserve took up acres of land between Beacon Hills and the surrounding communities, and it could take forever to search even on the best of days for the most well trained bloodhound teams. 

It was just good that he had a better nose than they did.

"STILES!" he shouted as he moved over to the entrance of the Preserve, stepping onto the path on the other side, picking up on the scent of the young male immediately and beginning to follow its trail. Everything seemed normal enough, at least at the beginning, close to where the vehicles were parked and the head of the trail started to part off into several smaller ones. Those in turn, like the tributaries of a mighty river heading towards its source, began to branch off into more or less experienced trails. He had been walking for several long and discouraging moments, shouting every so often with no reply from the boy, when suddenly it hit him. A chemo signal, and a big one at that hit him full on in the face like a runaway train. It enough to daze the experienced tracker, making him feel as if he had just shoved his nose into a cloud of fresh pepper spray. He leaned against a tree giving his head a shake to try and clear it from the acrid, nauseating waves that continued to hit him.

Stiles had definitely been here alright. He had been scared, and alone. Incredibly so. What was going through his mind the older male could only take the wildest stab in the dark at as he tried to take in the information from the massive pool of scent. He'd been there for a long time it seemed, by himself, thinking. But then something else seemed to have happened awoken inside of him, been triggered by something, because anxiety started to pour from that very same spot. The emotional signals co-mingled, fighting for dominance within the air, just as they had within the young man himself. One scent would drift to his nose, only to be replaced by another in his olfactory glands a moment or so later. Two powerful emotions, especially in someone like Stiles, and expressed at almost the same exact time. But at least he knew that he had been here. It wasn't hard to follow the trail that the teenager had blazed through the brush from his seated spot on the dead trunk, what with the broken branches and dug up leaf litter where he had fallen and flailed to get back to his feet again. And that wasn't even counting the stench that had been left in hi wake. Anxiety had a very potent tang about it, and mixed with the one that Stiles gave off naturally, well, there was absolutely no mistaking it. 

The farther he went, the darker and more enveloping the canopy of the woods seemed to get above him, and not in a way that seemed friendly or remotely natural to the lycanthrope either. It was early in the afternoon, and there was no reason for it to be getting so dark this early. It wasn't as if many of the trees out here were that close either. As he walked, he looked around and above him, and realized that it was more of an atmospheric change than a physical one. There was something heavy out here. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up in anticipation of some sort of fight. Because werewolves hardly if ever fled from a challenge.

He couldn't say he was surprised when Stiles' scent suddenly dropped off into a steep gully. Even from where he stood at it's top, he could see little traces of blood on bits of rock at the bottom and shook his head. He could easily put together what had happened to get the skinny little spaz down there. He'd come out here to get away from his bedroom, gotten himself in over his head with thought, probably figured out why none of his friends had come to visit him, freaked out and in his panic hadn't noticed the ground drop off beneath him. For Stiles, it seemed perfectly normal. He was probably still freaking out, and lost by this point, and had just called the first person he could think of to get him back to his precious car. 

But that didn't explain why he hadn't bothered to answer when Derek had shouted at him over the phone line.

Derek resented being used as a homing device. Or a security blanket, but unfortunately, he now felt like he was the only one concerned about the scrawny human's safety. The only one that Stiles probably wouldn't have felt like he was inconveniencing by calling out of the blue, anyway. Though he would know that he was probably pissing the former alpha off at this point. Shaking his head, he slid his way down the embankment before continuing to follow the trail of the scent. It was a bit harder down here thanks to the presence of a small creek, the barest makings of a game trail. The water continuously washes bits of the boy's scent away from the ground where a tracker would traditionally gather it, however Stiles seemed to have landed pretty badly back there, because he was leaning on plenty of things and leaving clues and bits of trail everywhere. 

"You're starting to really get on my nerves, Stiles!" Derek called out with a bit of preternatural amplification in his voice, hoping that, unlike all the other times, maybe he'd get an answer. If this ended up being a big wild goose chase, he was going to kill that lanky little pest himself. The trail smelled fresh down here at least, but there was nothing else to go on. The ravine continued to be just as deep as ever the farther he walked, and after an hour or two Derek was pretty sure he'd walked in almost a complete circle almost back to where he had started. It didn't look as if Stiles had climbed out anywhere near where he had been walking, and he was pretty sure he would have seen that. Shoes clawing into the mud-encrusted and root riddled dirt, as well as fingers looking for a hand hold would have been obvious. 

He had just made up his mind to walk for one more mile before turning around and going home and just reporting this to the authorities (who would probably just call him back out in the morning again anyway), when he came up to a bend in the creek, where it had had to meander to go around a series of large granite boulders. The chemo signals, which he hadn't gotten since Stiles' mad dash through the forest above, had returned. But this time, instead of anxiety and intense lonesomeness, he caught only fear. Not only that, but Stiles hadn't been alone. He could just get the scent of a predatory animal, which made his steps quicken to get around the bend.

To where he could only smell the acidic copper of blood.

When he did, he felt the color drain from his face. There was the young boy, looking as small as Derek had ever seen him. He was half curled in what was a pathetic attempt at a fetal position, right there at the very bottom of the gully. He was half laying on his stomach, and half on his side, his half curled underneath his abdomen. One of his arms was stretched slightly outward, resting on what Derek could only imagine was his cell phone's glass face plate, and the other was obscured, presumably crumpled under his body, though Derek could from this distance see the boy's misshapen and swollen hand even from this distance. Nothing about the picture looked right. He had always thought of Stiles as fragile, even though the teen had done so much to contradict that, and here he was, showing that humans were everything he had always thought them to be. 

Stiles was more pale than usual, what exposed skin Derek could see obscured by tears in his lithe muscle tone, covered in blood, or puffy and swollen with bruises. He had seen gruesome scenes many times in his life even been the subject of some, but when it was someone this young, someone who was usually so full of life, it was something quite different, and it definitely took Derek by surprise. 

A soft gurgle of a sound came to him, followed by a hollow, rasping cough, and that took him completely out of his daze, causing the wolf to charge forward over to the younger man. For a second there, Stiles had been so impossibly still that he had thought that he'd been too late, but that seemed not to be the case now. 

"Der.....ek?" came a muffled voice from deep down in a throat that seemed raw and ragged from screams. He half wondered if Stiles could even see him right now, of if he had actually heard all of those shouts. His voice had no strength, was barely even a breath of a whisper. It was only with his supernatural ears that Derek was even able to hear him.

"Oh god Stiles..." he murmured, afraid to even touch the boy as he grew closer, not wanting to cause him further pain. He looked down to see one of the boy's honey eyes on him, unfocused and hazy but at least open. His lips moved in a feeble attempt to form another word, but Derek hushed him. "Don't, don't..." The gurgling rasp was too much for him to bear at the moment. His eyes moved over the wounds, trying to make sense of them. Stiles seemed to be lucky to be alive, just based off of the bite wounds to his neck that he could see. It was a death bite, but aimed a bit too high, tearing up the skin and muscle and the back of the boy's buzzed scalp, making it almost resemble hamburger.

There were heavy, oozing slashes to his ribs and back, and it looked like he was missing a good chunk of the back of one of his thighs. 

"I have to get you to the hospital..." he murmured, though that much was obvious. The lump of flesh by his bent knees let out a slight whimper, dreading the thought of even a millimeter of motion, and Derek couldn't say that he blamed the boy in the least. "Shh..." the werewolf murmured, reaching a hand out and placing it on the one part of Stiles' body that didn't look completely mangled - his freckled cheek. He let out a breath, and began to draw the pain away, black veins forming between the two of them from the place of contact. When he couldn't take any more, he let out a breath, and looked down at the boy, who seemed to be breathing a bit easier.

* *

Getting Stiles out of the gully and to the hospital had been quite the trial. The way he'd been laying, Derek hadn't fully realized the full extent of his injuries. It had become apparent rather quickly though, that he needed to hurry this up if he was going to have any chance at saving the little pain in the ass. When he'd rolled Stile's over to attempt to pick him up, he'd realized that the arm he'd been laying on had been broken in several places. Crushed by the biting force of the puma that he'd been unlucky enough to come across, which was why his hand was so puffy. Bones all the way down had been victims of the feline's long canines, even down into his hand and fingers, and there was blood everywhere. 

He'd had to carry the boy in his arms bridal style, because it was the only way that Stiles could handle it. Not only that, but this way, Derek could almost continuously take pain from him like if he had needed to. Which he had. The entire way back up the trail once he'd jumped his way out of the ravine with the teen secure in his arms.

They'd walked in silence, Derek hushing Stiles when he'd start to feel too much pain and whine and whimper all the way back to the cars, telling him to just hang on. It would only be a little it longer if he could just hold on. The older man had put the pained, frail adolescent down in the front seat of the Toyota, letting him stay as curled up as he'd wanted, not even bothering to put a seat belt over him. His arm would do just as well in case of any sudden stops, and wouldn't cause any more pain than what the boy was already feeling, unlike the nylon seat belt that would just cut into all of those fresh wounds of his. The picture the entire drive to Beacon Hills Medical Center whenever he looked out of his periphery was a pathetic one. He'd had to keep reaching over to shake Stiles' bruised knee and make sure he was still awake, at the same time taking snippets of the intense waves of pain the boy was in. This was not good, at all. 

He couldn't make Stiles talk to him, not with the injuries to his neck, but anything would have been better than the little whimpers he got every time he accidentally hit a bump, or when the pain returned on its own. "Stay with me, kid." he kept repeating, feeling as if he were talking to some lifeless doll instead of an actual human being. Getting him to talk would be so much better, but it would do more harm than good. It wasn't until he had pulled into the ER parking lot and pulled Stiles out of the front seat again that he actually started to feel safe in the knowledge that this could be fixed. If not by human hands, than by supernatural ones come hell or high water. 

He didn't need another death on his conscious. Especially not the sheriff's kid. Stilinski was just getting to the point where he could stand him, could trust him a little bit. If his only son died on his watch, well, that would be more than just a bad stroke of luck for him. He could possibly be looking at a murder charge if the sheriff didn't believe his story. Or brushed aside the obvious cat fibers all over his son's clothing and actually acted on a mountain lion attack being a cover up this time.

It helped his nerves a bit to see that the beat up McCall family sedan with its duct-taped side mirror and dented front end was in Melissa's usual parking spot. He wasn't going to lie about that. 

"We're right here Stiles, just another few minutes..." he murmured in a hushed rush of breath as he closed the passenger door of his Toyota with his foot, not even bothering to press the button upon the key fob to lock up the giant SUV. If someone decided to steal the damn thing, then so be it. Life was more important. He was glad when the door slid open and the face that he saw at the desk was Melissa's. He could feel Stiles' head against his chest, rolling forward as he was starting to doze off. 

"Derek?" The middle-aged woman asked, coming around the desk. She was halfway there when she seemed to notice the bundle he was carrying. "Oh my god... Stiles?!" 

"He called me from the woods." The werewolf said, looking over the woman's suddenly pale features as she took in the teenager in his arms. She looked on the verge of tears as she took in his injuries, raw and bleeding all over as the boy trembled in his arms a bit. Seeing that seemed to galvanize her, making her take a step back and put that professional mask back on. "I found him like this."

Melissa nodded, and put a hand on Derek's bicep her finger tips pressing in an almost bruising quality to lead him over to a nearby, empty gurney.

"Lay him on his side." she said, able to see that the sleeve of Derek's Henley was already saturated with blood from the wounds up and down Stiles' back. The werewolf complied, and tried to help her peel the tattered flannel from off and out of his wounds. The pitiful whimpers and gurgles that Stiles made as he lay there, kicking pathetically and clawing at Derek's chest in an attempt to get him off hurt deep down in both of their hearts, though they tried so hard not to show it. "We have to get him into surgery..."

"No, not surgery." Derek said, his voice soft. He looked down into Stiles' honey eyes, dark with pain and anguish and everything that was wrong in the world. All the most needless of sufferings. He was going to make this right, somehow. Having seen bits of flesh come away with the fabric of the outside shirt, and knowing that his tee would be worse, he knew there was nothing that science could do for the boy. "Call Scott. Get him something for the pain, get him a transfusion, anything he needs... but call Scott, and then call his dad. Don't tell Scott why you need him here, just tell him he needs to get here now." He told Melissa, speaking with the authority of an Alpha. The authority that he no longer had, but one that he knew that everyone in Beacon Hills still respected. 

At least, he hoped. 

He watched as the nurse nodded, and rushed off. He let a few moments pass by before he turned his eyes back down to the gurney again, and to the boy laying on it, looking positively washed out in the harsh lighting of the hospital. On the rapidly reddening cover over the gurney.

"You can make it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the support, comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I can't believe that the first chapter meant so much to everybody!
> 
> Chapter 2 Title from "Dark on Me" by Starset


	3. Careless Whispers of a Once Good Friend

It had taken quite a few hard yanks on a great many strings and a lot of growls and grey-green daggers thrown before the trauma surgeons at Beacon Hills Memorial left Derek and Melissa alone to care for Stiles. She'd of course gotten one other doctor on board, to help but she was the one calling all the shots. They had agreed that keeping as few people involved in this as possible was best, considering what they hoped would be going on as soon as Scott arrived on scene. Wounds sealing at super human speed was not something that needed to be explained to everyone in the hospital. The two professionals spent the better part of an hour cleaning wounds and getting his arm set into an air cast, all while Stiles was under a heavy dose of painkillers, and under Derek's watchful eyes. They didn't close any wounds, but bandaged them up best they could. Deep wounds like the ones that littered the boys body were best healed from the inside out, as Melissa explained. It was something that the werewolf knew well from his own fights and the wounds that he had received.

Once the other doctor had left, Melissa busied herself with setting up a bag of type-O blood to try and help the boy out. "You really think this is going to work?" she asked the werewolf, who had yet to leave the little ICU suite. She hadn't had the heart to kick him out, though she would have had the power to do so. All it had taken was a little mumble from Stiles and the teenager reaching out and grabbing hold of Derek's ruined Henley with a feeble, tremoring hand when he had actually tried to melt her heart. She knew how terrible Stiles had been feeling lately, the emotional wringer that Scott had put him through, and she could not deny the hurting boy that could very well have been her son the one little bit of comfort that he was asking for. 

Derek could only look over at her, his grey-green eyes finally leaving the groggy, half-lidded honey hues of the teenager who had reached out for him so strongly, not wanting to be alone and in such agony. He still couldn't help but to wonder, why him? Why was he the one that Stiles had called? Did this have something to do with the chessboard? Or was this something more random, more instinctual? "It has to." he said. If there was one thing that he had come to consider the last few months, it was that the youngster before him deserved better than he was getting. "He's weak from the attack, but the blood will at least help to boost what energy he has." 

"That wasn't what I meant." 

"I know." Derek murmured. He didn't want to think about the alternative at the moment. 

"Do you really think that Scott will go along with this?" She turned to him then, after making sure that the accompanying bag of saline solution was hooked up to the IV line as well and that the two of them were running correctly. 

Where he was laying, Stiles shifted uncomfortably, as if just hearing his friend's name were enough to bring him back to the place in the woods were this had all started. That place where he had taken off running, scared for his life. Melissa saw this, it seemed, because she moved over to the boy's side and ran her hand over the parts of his hair not covered by bandages. "It's alright Stiles... Hush...." 

"He will." Derek said, his lips pressed into a tight, finite line. He could feel the heavy stress of the situation in the way he held his shoulders, in the way his brow crinkled as he sat there, leaning forward heavily in his seat. What if it didn't? What if Scott refused? Derek couldn't very well do it himself, and Stiles needed help. Would Scott dare to refuse his life long friend? His best friend? He hoped not. He kept those thoughts trampled, locked away deep inside, like he did with all the rest of his emotions that he didn't want the world to see. He could so easily go off the rails right now, rush headlong to wherever Scott was, whatever was taking him so long, and drag his ass back here, but there were those that needed him to stay here now. There were people relying on his strength, his experience. He couldn't just abandon them now. 

Especially not with those drugged, bloodshot eyes trying to focus on him from atop of the thin gurney mattress. 

_'We're looking for Melissa McCall. She called me and said it was urgent.'_ The voice that reached his ears was from down the hall, outside of the ICU suites and back by the ER entrance where he had come in with Stiles not so long ago. 

_'She's in with a patient, Scott.'_

_'Can you get her, please?'_

A sigh passed through Derek's lips then, and he looked up at Melissa, who was still smoothing down what she could of Stiles' hair in an attempt to sooth whatever frazzled nerves he had. As he watched, the honey eyes started to drift from half mast to close, so the motherly presence and touch was working. "He's here, at the nurse's station." 

"I'll go get him." Melissa said then, voice soft as she moved to the door. Derek listened as her soft, steady footfalls receded down the hallway, as she met up with Scott. 

_'Mom, why's Derek's car here?'_

_'It's all covered in blood.'_ Now that voice, that was Isaac. So Scott had at least talked him into staying in town for now. That was good. The boy was still too fragile to survive on his own, and going with Argent, that would have only been a constant reminder of what had been lost when Allison had died. 

_'There was an accident,'_ Melissa was leading them back this way now. _'S-someone was hurt.'_

Scott must have been able to hear that emotional crack in his mother's voice the same time that Derek had, because he stopped her just outside of the door. The older man turned to see that Melissa had positioned herself in front of it in such a way that her son couldn't see in, nor could Derek see the new Alpha of Beacon Hills over her head of barely wrangled curls. And that meant that no one could see that Stiles was the one laying on the bead. "Who, mom?" Scott's voice was much stronger now that it was just on the other side of a door. 

A sigh passed from Melissa as she opened it, effectively ripping off the band-aid on the moment that she had been dreading, the part that could get messy. Derek found his entire body tensing even more acutely as the door quietly opened, gliding on a silent track. It brought in light from the hallway, illuminating Stiles' pale, freckled face as it rested upon the pillow he'd been given. It also exposed the two teens standing at the door, each a head taller than the nurse escorting them. The two couldn't be any more different, what with Isaac's fair skin, longer face and blue eyes next to Scott and his more tanned complexion, but at the moment their expressions couldn't be more similar. 

Each boy took in Derek's appearance first with some shock, after all he was still covered in blood, but then eyes began to drift to the other occupant in the room and things began to sink in. 

They had frozen right there at the door way, the scent of their friend having wafted to them as soon as Melissa had gotten out of the way. Stiles may be obscured by bandages, his scent shrouded by antiseptic, bleach and blood, but there was still no mistaking him. Not for Scott, not for Isaac. Derek was glad that the anxious teen's back was to them due to his injuries. He wasn't sure if he could take the golden and crimson glows of their eyes, or the soft growls being emitted from their throats. Derek just watched them, not even mustering the energy to roll his eyes at their childish antics. 

"Scott!" Melissa hissed, slapping her son sturdily on the shoulder. He might be a super powered werewolf, and an alpha of his own to boot, but the nurse was definitely far more intimidating. She was not going to be done in by a teenager, especially by her own son. "Isaac, enough." she added, narrowing her eyes and pushing the two into the suite, closing the door behind them. 

"What is he doing here?" Isaac was the first to speak up, bearing his teeth at Derek as he bobbed his head to indicate the prone form of their classmate. 

"I would have thought that would be obvious," Derek said then, managing a glance from them to Stiles' eyes, which had finally folded closed with the promise of drug induced sleep. He hoped that he'd be out for a good, long while in a dreamless stupor. The beeps that accompanied the slow beating of the boy's heart was a reassurance that gave him confidence enough to look back at the two younger wolves. This needed to happen. "He called me from the woods, whether by accident or not, I have no idea. He was mauled by a mountain lion-" 

Before he'd even gotten the words out, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. The sheriff's department had been blaming the local fauna, especially the big cats, for werewolf attacks for years. Now, though, to hear himself say it out loud, that the actual lie was the truth, it was just... 

He wasn't surprised when the two started laughing, straight in his face. 

The fact that it was appropriate or ironic, that it was something he would have done didn't mean that it was something he was willing to take so he stood eyes shifting to their steely, cold blue as he growled at the two younger wolves. Isaac took a step back, bumping into Melissa's shoulder out of fear, but Scott stood his ground, growling back slightly. True alpha indeed. 

"What do you want me to do, Derek? Turn him, like you did with half the teenagers in this town?" the younger wolf asked. "That worked out so well for Erika and Boyd, didn't it?" 

The words did not cause Derek to back down, though they stung enough to allow for the glow in his to die. That had been a low blow, even for Scott. "What happened to them doesn't matter now. Stiles is your friend and he could die here." He said. "He needs the bite. I know how you feel-" 

"Obviously you don't, because you wouldn't be asking me to do this if you did." 

"I would do it myself if I could, Scott." Derek quibbled. "I gave up my alpha abilities to save Cora. That means you're the only o-" 

"He killed Allison!" 

His eyes shifted over to Isaac at hearing the boy's emotional interruption. He was petulant and still grief stricken, and he remembered now that the yellow eyed beta had been dating the Argent girl when she had died. Scott, also, had still had feelings for her, and she had died in his arms that night. Both of them had their motives for this obscene little game of theirs, even if it truly was juvenile and beneath the both of them. 

"No, an oni killed Allison." 

"An oni he was controlling." Isaac held firm in his belief, jabbing an accusatory finger at Stiles' immobile form on the gurney. 

Derek was getting tired of playing this game. It was just a bunch of repetitive circles and got old really quickly. "An oni controlled by a dark spirit possessing Stiles. He had nothing to do with it and you both know that. Get over it." 

That seemed to have been the wrong button to have pushed. He knew it has soon as he said it, and Melissa knew it as the words were being spoken, her eyes going wide from where she was standing on the other side of the teenagers as she began to pantomime large no gestures. Too late, though Derek felt that he could take whatever it was that the boys could dish out on him. 

"How about you get over the fire?" Isaac spat, his words like venom. 

That was the first time he saw Scott step up and try to hold his beta back. He placed a hand on Isaac's chest, his eyes narrowing slightly. At least he could still tell what subjects were off limits, what hits were completely below the belt. Even if he wasn't willing to see reason, he still knew what was right. Derek wasn't going to give up that easily. He was not going to just let Scott throw away the one person that had always stood by him no matter what had gone on in his life. 

"You want me to give him the bite, save his life?" Scott repeated his earlier question to Derek then, meeting his eyes as a sign of dominance over the room. Everything about the boy read that he was in control here, that no matter how things played out, they were going to be going his way, or no way. There would be no strong arming the young man, Derek could see that now, and it made him shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

"Yes." 

"Give me one good reason why I should." 

"Because he's your best friend." Derek told him, his voice dead panned as if it should have been obvious to him. "And because he would do the same for you." He said, flicking his eyes from the humanesque lump upon the bed and back to Scott for emphasis when he needed to. He kept his voice low and calm, free of blame or malice, and just stated what he knew to be true. Were the roles reversed, Stiles would have stood by Scott in a heart beat, and wouldn't have questioned the need for the bite either if he had seen his friend in such bad condition. In fact, he had a feeling that Stiles would have gotten things done already, if that had been the case. "And because you will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't do this. If you let him die, you will hate yourself for letting it happen for the rest of your life." 

Scott regarded him for an extended period of time then, his dark eyes fixed upon his own. They drifted down to the lump of blanket and bandages after a few moments, a sort of strange softness there. It was a reverie of familiarity; of nostalgia. He was remembering the grand times he'd had with his friend, the plays on the field, studying, no doubt everything that they'd done before their lives had been turned upside down. "There's no other way?" he whispered in mild consideration, watching the meek rises and falls of the other boy's ribs. 

"No." Derek murmured. 

"Honey," Melissa spoke up then, brushing between the two werewolves to stand at the other side of the gurney. She took Scott's hand and gestured to Stiles' right arm, encased in its air cast and resting on pillows where it wasn't laying against his own body. "That's his dominant hand honey, and I couldn't even begin to count the fractures that I could feel in the bones, all the way up to his shoulder. Who knows what's going on under the skin, what's been punctured... It could be so bad that he has nerve damage and can't write or feel his fingers anymore, not to mention be able to carry a lacrosse stick." 

"Unless he has the bite." Derek murmured. 

"And here..." Melissa gestured to the bandages around the back of Stile's neck and head. "Nerves, major blood vessels... honey, he needs this." 

Scott looked to his mother, his brows hitching together in a way that Derek recognized as begging her not to force him into doing this. To not force his hand. It was the same look that he used to give his own mother, and it had never worked on Talia either. When Scott looked up at the blood bag, to all the equipment hooked up to Stiles, over at Isaac, and then last of all, to Derek and something slowly seemed to change in his expression. 

"You would have done it yourself already if you could have?" he asked finally, voice hardly above a whisper. 

Derek could only give a soft nod in response, slow and deliberate. 

Scott gave out a gruff half-growl, closing his eyes for a moment. "Fine." he glowered, the corners of his mouth turning downward into a frown so heavy that he would have had Derek beat on his worst day. 

"You can't be ser-" Isaac began, but one glare from Scott was enough to silence the Beta and get him to back himself up against the door to the suite. Still the loyal, submissive little Isaac it seemed. 

"I'll do it." the alpha went on, turning slowly so that he was facing the only other wolf in the room to hold the position head on. "But on one condition, and I'm going to make it perfectly clear, Derek." He waited for the older male to nod before he went on, pointing a suddenly taloned finger at Stiles' prone form where it rested on the bed. "He is _not_ a member of my pack. He is _not_ my beta." he said, voice ringing out clearly. Derek couldn't help but to notice that he was avoiding saying Stiles' name aloud, only using pronouns instead, distancing himself on purpose from him. It was awfully impersonal, cold and calculating. Almost like something that Peter would have done. "You say you would have done this to save him if you could have, Derek? Well, then, he's your responsibility." 

With that, Scott moved over to the side of the gurney that Derek was sitting on and took up the other boy's limp wrist, the one not encased in the cast. He knelt down so as to not put stress on the IV line taped onto his skin, and aimed for a spot close to Stiles' elbow to sink his exposed canines into. When he was done, he all but dropped the lifeless extremity down upon the stretcher, gave a look to his mother, and then to Derek before he walked out with Isaac. 

Melissa went to walk out with them, and Derek took a clean compress from the rolling supply table next to the bed and pressed it to the new bite wound. He couldn't help but to mourn what Scott had just condemned Stiles to. Before he had even turned, he had been shoved to the side and forced to live out the life of an Omega. The bottom rung of any pack, the place of a loner. He sighed, shaking his head as he leaned forward. 

* *

Over the next few hours they'd managed to get images of the fractures in Stiles' arm and hand, and Derek was able to help Melissa palpate a few of the larger, more simple fractures back into place. Some of the other, smaller pieces they decided would have to wait until he was a bit more stable, but for now they figured they were alright. They checked under one of the bandages over a less major wound and both breathed a sigh of relief in seeing that it was smaller, more healed. Not incredibly so, but it was noticeable to the two of them. Both knew what that had meant. Though he was still weak from the attack and unconscious from the medications given to him, the bite had definitely taken. He wasn't quite out of the woods, but he was starting to get there. 

"You look wrecked," She told him after she'd changed the dressings on the wounds. "You should go home, Derek." 

"You look worse than I do." he replied with a grunt from under half lidded eyes, stretching his back and shoulders with a few audible pops as the tensed muscles began to finally relax after such a long and exhausting day. 

"I can't leave him like this," the nurse said, motherly fear and compassion in her voice. "At least not without talking to his dad first." 

The werewolf gave a grunt from his uncomfortable waiting-room chair against the wall. That was why he was staying too. So he could explain things to the Sheriff. At least to the best of his ability. He still didn't know entirely what had happened out there in the woods, and perhaps he never would. At least though, with the bite having gone through, and Stiles being safe and alive, he could at least talk his father through the changes that would be going on with that. The aggression, the swings with the full moon, these things Derek was an expert on, and he could warn, give pointers, let the man know of all the red flags he could be setting off before it came to that. Knowing what to avoid right now would be key. But at least they knew that physically, Stiles would be alright. 

His mental state, well, that would remain to be seen. It was something that would have to wait until the boy awoke, and neither he nor Melissa saw that happening any time soon. 

Derek must have dozed off at some point, his chin to his chest and his long legs stretched out before him, one ankle crossed over the other, because the next thing he knew the door in front of him was swinging open, the metal knob slamming against the plaster wall. Dazed, he looked up from under his sleepy lashes to see Stilinski standing in the doorway, his frame squared off and intimidating. But his eyes... those blue eyes of his. They were sad, scared, watery. A tear or two had already fallen, making tracks down his worried, wrinkled face, more threatening at the corner of his eyes. 

Without a word, Derek vacated his seat, allowing the law officer to cross and bonelessly plunk down into the cushions. He was quiet for a long while, still as a statue carved from ancient marble. Shaking, his hand moved out to take that of his son, and the younger man could see the sigh of relief that was nearly a sob move through him when he felt the warmth radiating from the point of contact. Derek knew from experience that that hand would now be warmer than normal, but not so much as to be noticeable at present. By the time he got out of the hospital, his father would be able to tell the difference in temperature between the two of them. He watched as the Sheriff just held on to his son's fragile looking fingers for a long few moments, his thumb ghosting over the prominent knuckles. It had been a close call, and so he let them just have as much time as they needed. He would have wanted the same thing were any of his family still around... and well, pleasant to be around. 

It seemed as if an hour had passed by before the older Stilinski actually managed to speak up. "What happened?" he asked. His eyes didn't move away from his son's placid, relaxed face, but his years of training letting him know he wasn't alone in the room, and exactly where the other occupant was. "Who did this to my son?" 

Now that... was different. Derek knew that the Sheriff hadn't known about what had been going on behind the scenes in Beacon Hills until his life had been threatened by the supernatural. Stiles had been forced to tell him about it last year, but at the time had said that his father had refused to believe him about the werewolves and whatever else was running around. Even with his chess board visual aide. It seemed as if the events of the last few months had been enough to turn the tables on that, and that this was the final nail in the coffin. Even if it was a mundane nail. 

"It wasn't one of us." Derek said, his voice reverent, soft. He didn't want to risk waking Stiles. The boy needed his rest now, all that he could get really as his body went through the transition and it began to heal from all of those wounds. "It was a mountain lion." 

"You expect me to believe that? After all the lies about-" Stilinski turned to him then, his eyes blazing with pain and grief like he had never seen before. The kind that no one but a parent could feel when their child was hurting and they were completely helpless when it came to alleviating that pain. It had to make them feel impotent and helpless, and when you were someone who was trained to help others on top of that, trained to protect, it had to be even worse. But as he met Derek's steady gaze, he could see the fear and the misgivings melt away. He knew that Derek wasn't lying, wouldn't lie about this. 

"Melissa already gathered fibers for the lab, but I'm telling you it's what I smelled out there." Derek went on to explain, "Stiles called me from the woods, I don't know if it was accidental," he relayed once more, reaching up and running a wide, rough hand over the back of his neck. How many times had he gone over this story today? "When I got there I could smell an animal, a cat, and he was laying in a pool of blood. I had tracked him for miles before that." 

The sheriff was watching him intently, the hand that had Stiles' own squeezing it ever so gently. He didn't want to hurt his son, or wake him either it seemed, but he wanted to make sure that he was there, that he wouldn't be disappearing. Derek could only imagine what had been going through the man's mind on his way over here, all the fear and the worry after all of those messages from himself and Melissa. "It smelled like he'd had a major anxiety attack, and he just... hadn't noticed what he walked into." A low, dry snort of laughter choked its way out of the sheriff's throat then. "Sounds like my son," he grumbled, shaking his head. 

The corner of Derek's mouth couldn't help but to spasm in an upward arc. It did. Leave the sheriff to find the little bit of humor in the situation and to alleviate the tension with it. Apparently the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree when it came to Stiles after all. "Yea," he replied. "Anyway, we called Scott in. He... begrudgingly gave him the bite... it saved his life, his wounds were pretty bad but they're already healing. I don't know if Melissa already told you." 

"She did." Stilinski whispered, leaning over his son's still body to ghost a kiss on the boy's cheek. It was a motion that garnished the slightest bit of protest in the form of a grumble from Stiles, who twitched the very tip of his button nose. The motion made his father smile, and Derek had to admit that he felt his heart warming at the gesture as well. It was the first thing that looked like something Stiles would actually do that he had seen all day. "And she said something about Scott having passed Stiles on to you." 

Derek nodded. "He kicked him out of the pack before he even turned him. He won't have a pack to protect him, and in our world, that usually means an terrifying and painful death at the hands of hunters after you've lost your way and gone mad." He ran a hand over his eyes and looked over at the kid, his eyes turning sad. "Laura and I were almost in that boat for a long time, and after I lost her..." he shook his head. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him." 

"Make sure it doesn't." The sheriff murmured. "Stiles gave me a run down of your weaknesses when he was filling me in on what was going on in this county. Anything happens to him, and I swear..." 

"Wolfsbane bullet, got it." Derek sighed, holding up a hand as he closed his eyes in a sign of understanding. If he had only had a dollar for every time he'd heard or had that happen to him. 

"Actually, I was going to say you were facing life without parole, but wolfsbane works too." The sheriff retorted with a cocky grin, Stiles' grin. 

A further stirring upon the bed caused them both to glance over at the lump of blanket, and Derek noticed the teen's hand slowly begin to tighten inside of his father's grip. Delicately closed lids fluttered, lifting from over the honey hues and exposing them to the light. There seemed to be more of a shine to them than usual, even if he was in pain, even if he was half unconscious. 

"D-dad?" the boy grunted, his voice sounding gruff, but better than the little squeaks and gurgles that had been coming out of his mangled throat earlier in the day. 

"Hey there kid," The sheriff murmured. "You scared the hell out of everyone today, you know that?" he asked. 

"Sorry." Stiles murmured. "I... didn't mean... I didn't think..." 

"You don't have to explain, Stiles." The sheriff told him, his voice soft and calming, and Derek recognized the voice of a loving parent. The same tone that his mother had used when he or his sisters were feeling scared or upset. Talia had always had a way about her, she was a fierce protector of her territory and her pack, but when it came to her children, she hardly if ever let them see her fangs. She had been nothing but soft with them, nurturing and supportive. And it was times like this when he missed her most of all. 

Stiles just gave a soft nod, grumbling a bit as he felt the healing muscles in his neck stretch and contract uncomfortably. "Ouch..." he whimpered. 

"Its better than it was." Derek told him, able to see the discomfort in the teen's face. Those honey eyes opened back up, swiveling to the darkened corner where Derek was standing. He looked confused for a moment, his brow raising. 

"D-erek?" he asked. 

"Yea, hey kid," the born wolf replied. "Your wounds are already healing, Melissa and I were checking them earlier. You're going to be alright." 

The look that he got then was the most obscene he had ever seen. His brow wrinkled in confusion, as if he were missing a whole chunk of time, and one of them rose over the wrinkles in his forehead. It was the renowned 'I missed something and I'm going to figure it out, just give me a second,' face, one that Stiles wore more often than not. "What do you mean 'my wounds are already healing'?" he asked Derek. Tentatively he snaked his fingers away from the interlaced grip that his father had with his own hand and brought it up to rub through his lengthening hair. "The last thing I remember was... the woods..." He looked over at Derek. "No, wait, being in your car." 

"Yea... well, you were near dead. We got Scott to-" 

Stiles' normally pale face went completely ashen before the werewolf even finished his statement. "You didn't..." 

"Stiles, it's ok." The sheriff told him, looking over at the heart monitor, which was quickly leapfrogging as Stiles' heart rate started through the roof. 

"You turned me?" He hiccuped, his brows hitching in the middle of his forehead. His golden hues eyes looked nearly terrified, and that caused Derek to sigh. He moved over to the side of the bed, kneeling down beside the struggling youngster. He didn't know how much of this was actually Stiles, or how much was the new instincts kicking in already. The omega instincts were strong, and their fight or flight drive was so much more geared toward getting out of the way. 

"We had to, you were going to die... and even if you didn't, it wouldn't have been a life you would have been able to stomach," he informed, making sure that his voice was soft as could be. He didn't need to spook the boy. Stiles needed to calm down, and he had to do so quickly. He reached out, taking the hand that he had been threading through his hand, taking it within his own and bringing it back down to the mattress of the gurney. "You'll be alright, you already know what your body is going through, you saw it with Scott, and besides I'll be guiding you through it. You aren't going to hurt anybody. You aren't going to kill anybody. You'll be fine." 

Stiles groaned, looking indecisive and unsure, and Derek gave him a sigh. 

"We'll both be here for you, son." 

Somehow the words of his father calmed the boy more than anything else. It was just the simplest of statements, and shouldn't carry much weight next to the facts he'd lain out, but they did. He watched as Stiles nodded into his thin pillow, the drug looming in his eyes again, looking like they were about to crash over him again. He watched as the Sheriff patted the boy's hand. 

"Get some rest son." 

"Go home, old man." The boy grunted, half asleep already. 

Derek couldn't help but snort as the sheriff chuckled. "Right..." The older man looked back up at him then. "He seems to be in capable hands." he sighed. 

"I can stay here, if you want to go home, Sheriff." 

"Just... call me if anything changes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from "Careless Whispers" by George Michael


	4. The Knife Right in My Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been mostly silent for before the chapter AN. I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for the hits on the story, the kudos, the comments and all the support. This chapter took a lot of editing, which is why it took so long to get up. It started out really weird, because its a bridge between what happened in 3 and what's going to be happening in 5 (originally it was supposed to happen here, but I thought it was too soon). I'm mostly happy with how it ended up, and hoping that things don't seem too wonky and ended up more explained than they were in the original draft.

"That's good, try it again," came the calming voice of the older man standing before him, holding his wrist delicately in his own hand. A stagnant huff of air left Stiles' lungs and the tip of his nose twitched as he nodded, curling his right hand back up toward himself into a tight fist. He felt the sinew and tendons in his forearm stretch uncomfortably under the ace bandage wrapped snug around the joint as his fingers shook in effort, just the tips humming with the fire of pins-and-needles sleepiness that had slowly been receding since the accident three weeks ago. He closed his honey hued eyes, tried not to kick anxiously with his feet as he sat on the cold metal slab of an exam table, and concentrated. He stilled for a minute, chewing on the inside of his lip, willing it to happen again, for him to be able to call on them again, for this to work. Because he needed it to work. He needed to get used to this somehow, sometime. Needed to will this last bit of wounded flesh to heal itself so that he wouldn't end up someone else's chew toy. And he needed it to happen soon.

Stiles had been lucky enough to have received the bite a few days after the last full moon, so he'd had a whole month in order to get used to his new situation, unlike Scott who'd only had a few days when it had been his turn. He tried not to think about the sting in the already healed bite wound on his wrist when the name came up in conversation. Tried to act casual, like he didn't feel hollowed out on the inside from what had happened. Like he hadn't still been half awake when Scott and Isaac had first come in to his hospital room, and like he hadn't heard what they'd had to say about him. That they thought of him as little more than a monster, as if he was the one who had done all those things himself, instead of the thing that had possessed him. 

Giving a little growl at the train his mind was taking and pretending that it was more intimidating and werewolf-y than as puppy-like as it really sounded, he released all the tension in his hand all at once. The motion caused his new, blackened claws to jolt from his nail beds like deadly slinkies, and Stiles opened his eyes to look down at them. It was odd to think of the little needle-like claws as his own set of razor sharp weapons. Something his own, even though he'd been working on popping them for weeks now. He had just never imagined seeing them on his own finger tips. They looked incredibly alien to him. 

"Excellent." Came Deaton's voice again. He'd been coming here for PT for his hand since he'd been released from the hospital. He couldn't very well see a regular doctor about it now that he had received the bite and was healing faster than a normal human. But that didn't change the fact that still needed to have someone supervising the process. Deaton had been the obvious choice, even before it had been 'suggested' to him. He had just had to be careful about avoiding... 

"Think he's starting to get the hang of it?" came a gruff voice from one of the gloomier corners of the back exam room, causing Stiles' eyes to spring up. Derek was standing there, imposing as ever in one of his dark henleys, arms crossed over his wide chest. He'd almost forgotten that the older man was standing there, eager to see the progress that the newest wolf in town had made in his recovery. In fact, he had insisted on picking Stiles up and bringing him to see Deaton since he had started coming to see the vet. 

"He's already gotten the hang of it, and I think you know that," the druid's voice was calm as ever as he gave Stiles' shoulder a reassuring pat. A smile was there as well, one that not only curved at his lips, but colored his deep eyes as well. "The reflexes of the one hand are a bit slow, but they're just as strong as they should be. If you're referring to the any of the nerve damage you and Melissa were worried about, he's all but golden." 

" _'He's'_ got a name you know." Stiles grumbled, giving the vet a sharp glare and a heavy frown as he wrenched his wrist away from the human's hand. He knew that the two of them were just trying to help make him at ease with his new situation, he did, but them talking about him like he wasn't here was super annoying. It was something that he remembered having gone on when his dad was called into the principal's office when he was in elementary school, or when his parents had taken him to his first psychiatrist and they had diagnosed him with ADHD. Even after that, when his mom had first been diagnosed, and the doctors had assumed that he wouldn't understand what was going on and tried to talk above him. It had always been something that he had hated, something that had set him off, and something that he called out whenever he could because, what the hell? 

His words got Derek to release a somehow amused huff from his nose all at once, which to his new ears made him sound like a bull about to let himself loose in a china shop. 

"We know, Stiles," was all the larger male could bring himself to say on the matter, however, as he moved away from the counter he was leaning against and cutting the gap between the two of them in two strides. "We know..." he repeated, bringing a hand up and placing it atop of the newest werewolf's head. It wasn't an altogether rough touch, but also not as gentle as one would expect of a gesture that was supposed to be comforting. Then again, it was Derek. Derek who wasn't used to touching except for throwing punches. Derek with his angry eyebrows... Derek who had saved his life. 

And Derek was touching him.... Had been doing it a lot since he'd been turned. At first it had scared and confused him. Startled, really. Now he just found it sort of odd, it was almost as if the older wolf was trying too hard to make things right because of what had gone on with Scott and Isaac. He knew from what he'd heard that Derek was now responsible for him and so he was probably just stepping into that roll, and perhaps he was even making up for other things in his life... things like having not been there for Cora because he'd thought she was dead for the last eight years of their lives after they'd both survived the fire. He didn't really know, but it was what he told himself anyway. Because, honestly anything else just gave him the creeps, especially with the way his new instincts ran wild with the prospect of the touching. It was something that was new, the need to be close to someone else like that, to touch. It was the wolf part of him, that much was certain, but he didn't know what to do about it. 

He never knew what to say when Derek touched him like this, or what to do with himself. He always ended up feeling so damn conflicted. Parts of him wanted to shy away from the contact, to shimmy back and hide from those hands that he knew had the strength to squash him like a bug even though he now had his own blossoming power. 

But there was also a part of him, and he didn't know how strong this part was, that wanted to revel in the touches, to crane his neck back and let Derek's hand move through his hair, down over his shoulders, and pull him close. That same part of him wanted nothing more than to have the former alpha wrap those huge biceps around his shoulders and let him rest his chin on one of his own. He wanted to take in that scent that he know knew was Derek Hale in the place that it would be the most pure, that of evergreen and classic Old Spice, of dirt and sweat after a good run through the woods... 

"-iles?" 

He shook his head, loosing the hand from his hair as he sat perched atop the steel exam table. A few slow, owlish blinks cleared his eyes of the daydream he hadn't realized he'd lost himself in as he focused back on the two older men in front of him. Both were watching him with mild concern, though they seemed to realize that he hadn't lost himself in anything too harmful. "Huh? What?" The grumble from his throat sounded husky and dark, clammy as if he'd just woken from a nap. He smacked his lips together limply, realizing that they were suddenly a bit dry as he looked back and forth from one man to the other, tongue darting over the parched, chapped skin. 

The looks that were shared between Deaton and Derek over him then would have caused a bit more concerning if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't sense any differentiation in the beating of their hearts. Both of them were steady as rocks, just like always, and he wondered if they were just as even when they were covering up the whole truth from the rest of the town, or if their heavily practiced default settings were just to put the newb wolves like him at ease. 

"Well, it's good to know that you can still get that lost in thought, I suppose." Deaton said with a bit of a smirk playing against his dark cheeks before his eyes darted up to the clock mounted high against the brick. "But, the two of you should get going. Scott's shift starts at four, and it will be hard enough explaining the peroxide I'm going to use to cover up your scents." 

"Just tell him Mrs. Jacobson's cat pissed itself again." Stiles grumbled saddly as he hopped off of the exam table. He wasn't lying, could smell the acrid tang of the sick feline through the doors that separated this room from where Deaton kept his long term patients, including the geriatric house cat. "Seriously, that's the fourth time since we've been here." He stated, matter-of-factly, trying to separate himself from the emotion of knowing there was a creature in the other room that was slowly reaching the end of its life, and there was nothing that any of them could do about it. 

The vet gave a soulful glance toward the door then. "I'm afraid we can't all be as lucky as you, Stiles." he said, tone even and wise as he headed off to go clean up with a dismissive wave to the two young men as they saw themselves out the back door of the clinic. 

"Oh yea. I'm the poster boy for good luck, alright." The amber-eyed teen grimaced as he gave an expansive inhale of fresh air from the back lot. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, he felt like punching something, not caring if it would set back the recovery of his hand again. There wasn't much wrong with it anymore, really, save for some aching muscles and over extended tendons as they tried to heal back into place. He was lucky, of course, a normal human would still have weeks left in a cast at this point. His whole arm could still be in a sling, but all he had was the ace around his hand and wrist, disappearing under the cuff of his flannel sleeve. 

"You're angry." Are Derek's whispered words as he moves out of the back door of the office to join him, standing there on the black top in his boots, dark jeans, and henley. He's the perfect example of a statue carved out of dark marble, stoic and waiting for an explanation. It's such a juxtaposition of how he had been for the last few years when he'd been ready to rip out people's throats with his teeth, and Stiles finds it completely infuriating. Even more so than the words that the vet had used when they were walking out of the office without even thinking of the effect that they would have on anybody. Its enough so that he can feel hot air rocketing out of his nostrils in angry jets, especially since he knows Derek isn't commenting on his emotions from his words. Its his body language, his signals in his scent. The older boy has been doing a lot of this in the past few weeks, too. When he isn't trying to get Stiles to sit and focus for three seconds on what werewolf skill he's supposed to be learning - because apparently the bite didn't get rid of all traces of his ADHD - or teaching, he's sitting and waiting for him to explain himself, or to mimic whatever it is he was being shown at the time. But, at the same time, Derek has never really pushed him. Never forced him. He was just there. 

"No shit..." Stiles grumbles, lashing out at one of the Toyota's stupid, ugly tires with his foot. He grunts as it bites back at his toes in rubbery retribution, but Derek says nothing about the teen kicking at his SUV. He knows if it had been the Camaro, he would have had another thing coming. However, the little show of temper helps, at least a bit, and he's able to get his thoughts in line enough to at least make his tongue process them into words. "You're the one who keeps telling me to expect it. The anger. Full moon's in what, four days right?" he asks as he turns back to face the older man, waving a blue and grey clad arm at the clear blue sky above the neighboring Beacon Hills business district. Derek only nods in response, and waits, knowing that the looming full moon is what's causing the emotions to finally bubble to the surface like this, but it's not the cause of them. Though Stiles is a talker, he has rarely actually spoken about what it is that is going down deep in in his heart, biding his time and letting him spill little bits at a time is all that he can ask for. He's hoping that he'll be lucky enough for this to be a time of revelation if he's quiet and calm enough. "I'm not fucking lucky, Derek, ok? I just wish people would stop saying it. Its like everyone is parading around me like... like I walked away without a scratch after a ten car pile up or something." 

"You almost died, Stiles." 

"Noooo...." Stiles stopped. He hadn't realized he'd started pacing until he stood stock still, feet planting when his breath died out. It was a nasty habit that he'd had since he was little, but one that had gotten so much worse since the bite. Sometimes he found himself walking in circles now, round and round like he was chasing the tail that he still half expected to sprout from his ass any day now. His dad had caught himself doing it a time or two in his room, when he was doing his homework, and had once offered to tie him up in the yard as a joke. Stiles hadn't found it particularly funny. He turned to Derek and pointed the index finger of his bandaged hand at him. "No. I should have died. I should have died, Derek. It would have been better off for everyone if you hadn't saved me." 

He watched as the older wolf, the beta, the actual member of the pack, let out a long sigh then, and shook his head. "No, Stiles." His voice was low and chilling, said with an authority as if he was the only one allowed to tell Stiles when he should or shouldn't kick the bucket. But then again, if there was any one in the entire county who was the authority on near death experiences, it was Derek Hale. He'd been shot with wolfsbane, burnt, impaled, stabbed, mauled by various alphas more times than anyone could even bother counting, and was still standing here, all in one piece and without a single scar to show for his trouble. "You didn't deserve to die in the woods like that." 

He was shaking his head, slowly, back and forth motions, but his eyes never left Derek's. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the born wolf that he wasn't convinced of that logic, but the older boy stopped him in his tracks. "I know you've been going through a lot since..." He looked down and away, and let Stiles at least have the dignity of not mentioning what had happened those months ago out loud. He didn't say it, at least, but his eyes verbalized it more than words ever could 'since you were possessed' flew unspoken between them for a few seconds before Derek managed to go on, sinking in to both of their brains like an oreo disappearing into a glass of milk. "But it wasn't you, Stiles. None of what that thing did was you." Grey eyes, tinged with gentle green, did not move away from the honey brown hues, trying to reach down into the pit of shame and grief that was held there and scrape it out. He knew though, deep down, that the only way Stiles would believe it would be if he came to terms with what happened on his own, the same as he had after the fire. And this whole thing with Scott was not helping him in any. 

"How can you be so sure of that?" The boy grumbled, the sound coming out a low growl, the tips of canines showing around the flesh of his lips. 

Quietly, Derek took a step in close to the boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a small, supportive squeeze. A smile formed at the very corners of his lips as well, trying to cheer the youngster. It wasn't much, barely picking the very corners of his lips into an upward arc, but it was there, dotting the apples of his cheeks with tiny traces of dimples. "Because, you have to remember, some of us felt it too. After you'd popped yourself out of Eichen, when the Nogitsune released all those flies..." 

Stiles blinked, shock registering on his face as the color drained out. The implication of Derek's words rocked him too the core, causing him to stutter a few steps back from the older man. He was pretty sure he hadn't known about that. Any of that. And he had thought that Lydia had told him everything about what had happened during the time that the Nogitsune had had him under its influence. Suddenly he felt more alone than he had since that night in the hospital, if that had ever been possible. The words he had heard then repeating in his head over and over again. 

_'He is not part of my pack.'_

"What?" 

_'He is not my beta.'_

"No one... told you?" 

_'He's your responsibility, Derek.'_

"Told me what?" 

But Derek seems to have turned his listening ears off for now. His face is pensive and the piece of his brow just above his nose is chock full of intense wrinkles, making his eyebrows crease into an angry set of slopes toward the center. His eyes are closed, but there's the unmistakable glow of steely blue coloring his the very tops of his cheeks from under his lashes. A glow that Stiles wonders if he ever missed before in looks like this with his human eyes, quiet angry moments. Because Derek Hale has now been set off, that much is certain. He might be able to hide it in his scent, but Stiles was well versed in reading his body language long before the bite took hold in his veins. "Nothing... just..." The frown he's wearing is even more intense than the angry eyebrows, which is saying something, and Stiles can't help but to give his own natural interrogatory expression, one brow up, neck craned toward the born wolf. 

"You taught me how to hear your heartbeat, remember? I heard that uptick. Besides, you have that look on your face like someone is begging for your teeth in their throat." 

A sigh passes from the older man's lungs as he shakes his head. "Of course you would have," he grunts, completely ignoring the second statement, the words parting from his lungs almost painfully. He spares a glance to Stiles, and the look in his eyes is sorrowful and grey, as if he doesn't want to be the one to tell him that Grandma Stilinski just died or they had stopped making the model of battery that Roscoe needed or something. Instead, he crosses over to the Toyota, his hand fishing the key fob out of his pants pocket with a prissy little beep and flash of headlights. He opens the driver's side door and half gets in, one of his legs still draped lazily out, his toes pressed against the pavement as he leans on the steering wheel with his forearms. "Isaac, Ethan, Aiden and I... we were all possessed too. Short term," he finally lets out, tension draining from his shoulders. 

Stiles feels his jaw drop then, almost all the way to the floor, and he just stares, unable to do anything about it. But things don't end there. Oh, no, because that isn't enough of a crack in his already peachy pretend world. 

"Aiden and Ethan almost killed each other. I almost killed Chris out of retribution over what happened with Kate and the fire, almost burned both of us down in their apartment, and it would have been in front of Allison too." Derek shook his head, shame drifting off of him in waves of harsh scent. It was clear that what had happened had bothered him as well, but then again, perhaps this was more about what everyone else was doing now instead. They fact that they had hidden all of this from Stiles, because he obviously didn't know, and what they'd been doing as a pack in spite of it. "And Isaac... he almost..." 

"Killed Allison?" Stiles finished, voice questioning, eyes cast downward. Sure that was what had almost happened. The cherry on the Jim Dandy that was his life at the moment. Suddenly he was too angry to contemplate what was going on around him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to run, to do anything other than stand there like the knee-locked idiot his body was deciding it was going to be right now. That little hypocrite Lahey. Here Isaac was, blaming him for what had happened when he had gone through the same thing. The same damned thing. And no one had even had the balls to tell him. Him and Scott, the cowards, were still avoiding him like the plague at school, even going out of their way to walk around him in the halls and make a show out of it. To make a pariah out of him socially not only within the pack but within the rest of the contracts they were forced to go through day in and day out. And it was working. All based on a lie. 

He let out a growl and shook his head, feeling a terrible sting at the corner of his eyes. "Assholes." he whispered, unable to believe that he had ever been able to call the two of them friends. Hell, that he'd been able to call them family - able to call them pack. You did not treat family like that. The words he'd spoken were so far under his breathe that it was hardly audible to his own ears. Seated behind his steering wheel, Derek had almost missed it, had only caught the word because over the past few weeks he'd gotten used to the boy's half-cocked griping. He was the only one who heard the complaints, who Stiles seemed to be able to let himself let it all go in front of. He was glad that the young wolf at least seemed to be able to let it go. Keeping all of these emotions bottled up was far from beneficial, and would only hurt the teen in the long run. 

"Lets get you home." Derek's voice was gentle, and it coaxed him from his place cemented against the asphalt and over to the other side of the Toyota. It wasn't the Jeep, but it was comfortable enough, even if he could still smell hints of his own blood in the fabric of the seat cushions. Over the last few weeks, the passenger seat had gotten as familiar to him as the driver's seat of his own car, and he could just curl himself up into it. Derek usually tried to garnish a little bit of conversation from him, but seemed to sense that today was not the day for it, especially after Stiles had reclined his seat a bit and made the tiniest ball possible out of his own body with the seat belt clicked over his chest. 

That didn't mean that he wasn't deep in conversation, however. He'd taken out his phone as soon as he was situated, and opened a conversation that he'd had going with Lydia. She'd been the only one to visit him in the hospital, and though the two of them had rarely spoken face to face since he'd gone back to school, they were constantly in communication. 

**'Why didn't you tell me about the flies?'** he typed out, his thumbs going a mile a minute as he rested his head against the cool glass of the window. He could see Derek's near serene gaze shifting to him at red lights and could smell the older wolf's compulsive worry, but was glad that the older man didn't ask who he was talking with. 

**'Flies?'** Lydia asked. **'We don't have a bug problem, if that's what you're asking.'**

' **Nogitsune flies'.**

**'Oh.'** The short reply came after a few long moments, as if the banshee knew she had finally gotten caught. There was another long pause in which Stiles took a few deep calming breaths, trying to exhale slowly like he'd been taught so that he didn't crush his phone before he got any more information from her. He had to keep reminding himself that out of everyone in the pack, Lydia was as far from the enemy as any of them could get. She was the only one that could still be counted as a friend. With the exception of his current company, of course. **'I didn't want to worry you.'**

**'Why do I not believe that?'**

**'You were really sick, Stiles. You probably don't remember, but we found you unconscious in a parking lot with a healing wound at one point. You looked like you'd tried to commit seppuku. And in the woods before that.'** she typed to him, his phone pinging three times in quick succession with such a long message. 

**'So you couldn't have told me after?'**

**'You got mauled by a puma, I thought I was being a good friend.'**

**'Scott told you not to tell me, didn't he?'**

**'What? No!'**

**'Just admit it, Lydia.'**

**'Why would you think that?'**

**'Because he's the alpha, that's why.'**

**'And I'm a banshee, not a werewolf. I do what I want, Stiles.'**

Frustrated, the teen tossed his phone into the back seat of Derek's Toyota, were his backpack was currently sitting, deposited when Derek had picked him up after school. 

"That bad, huh?" the older wolf murmured, frowning as the device clattered against the floor after falling off of the seat. 

"I hate when I can't tell if she's lying to me." Stiles grumbled, looking over at Derek over the apples of his cheeks before he curled in on himself again. The older wolf decided that he had never seen the boy look so defeated the entire time that he had known him, even when he was putting down the little spazoid himself. 

"Lydia?" he asked, though it was pretty obvious who Stiles was talking about. There were few from his old life that were still talking to the young man, and even less from the pack. If he was in contact via text message with someone, it would have had to be Lydia. In the back seat, the two of them could hear Stiles' phone buzzing and giving little alert bloops as messages continued to be sent from the banshee, only to garnish no reply in return. 

He pulled the Toyota over to the curb in front of the Stilinski home, allowing the teen to depart from the car. It was when Stiles was fishing his phone out from under the bucket seats with his nimble fingers that he looked up at the older wolf. "Do you... uhmn.... what to come in for a while?" he asked, his voice quiet and soft, almost pleadingly so. "I don't really want to be alone." 

"Sure." He turned off the SUV, folding himself out of the front seat and following the teen into the house. He couldn't blame the teen, really. It was natural for wolves to want to be with each other. Even in nature, wolves were known to take care of sick or dying members of their own pack, and rarely left one to their own devices. The only exception was when one broke off to start their own. The fact that Stiles had been forcibly pushed out like he had was a precedent that Derek didn't stand by at all. He wasn't surprised that the boy was so desperately lonely that he was asking for his presence. It didn't help that his father was the county sheriff and was forced to practically live alone anyway. He couldn't deny him simple contact when asked, it was just too cruel. 

The next few hours were quiet, mostly companionable silence. Stiles had homework to do, and so Derek just sat back and read, or got the young were a snack when his stomach started to rumble too much for him to concentrate. A ham sandwich did a good deal for the frazzled emotions and humming nerves just under the surface of his skin. 

Stiles was in the middle of his calculus homework when he suddenly stilled, his foot stopping mid wild tapping, hand curled white knuckled in his grown out hair. Derek was used to seeing sudden swings from the boy, so he dog eared the page in the book that he was reading, just in case, but didn't look up, not knowing if it was just a moment of concentration, or if something had occurred to the boy. That was, until he spoke. 

"What... what color will my eyes be?" he asked finally, his voice a trickle of resignation and trepidation. Fear and anxiety worked their way off of him, and as Derek carefully closed his book, his eyes focusing on Stiles more and more, he could see that the teen was trembling almost imperceptibly there in his desk chair. He moved off of the other chair in the room, having not wanted to take over Stiles' bed in case he had wanted it, and to the boy's side. When he did, a desperate gaze moved up to him, the color of precious gemstones, watery and sad. "Derek... what... what color are my eyes?" he whimpered, desperate for an answer, but sounding too petrified to find out. 

"Shhh... shhh...." Derek murmured, kneeling down beside the desk chair. He couldn't help but to think of how this most sudden onset of anxiety had to have been his fault. If he hadn't said what he had back at the clinic, there wouldn't have been such a backslide in Stiles' mood in the car ride home. He put a hand on the teen's knee, watching the other wolf with gentle eyes. He wished that he could do something more to help him cope with the emotions that he was drowning in at the moment without causing him more confusion or pain. "Whatever color they are, Stiles... it doesn't matter." 

"It does." The boy blubbered, lost somewhere in a sea of self pity. 

Derek could only sigh at him, letting the air slowly out of his nose, shaking his head again and letting his own eyes shift to blue. "What does this mean to you, then?" 

He managed to get Stiles to look at him for a moment after he captured his chin in one of his hands, was able to see his own reflection, the sheen of his gaze reflected back at him in those watery honey eyes. The boy's forehead creased, his chin dimpling in barely bottled emotion. "We both know that that wasn't the same..." he murmured. 

"How?" the older were asked, voice all seriousness, trying to get the younger boy to snap himself back out of it and to think. To get him to try and see from his point of view, how the two of them had been used more than they had been willing to admit at the time. How the nature of what they were now didn't care now either way, it was just a way of balancing the scales. "I took an innocent life, Stiles. Whether or not she was in pain, that it was a mercy killing, makes no difference." is Derek's reply. "And you were possessed. If your eyes come out blue... we know it will be no fault of your own either." 

Stiles could only shake his head. He couldn't bring himself to believe those words, no matter how true they were. He'd been put through too much, been told too much contradicting information lately. 

"You've been avoiding shifting your eyes because you don't want to see them, right?" Derek asked, watching as the teen nodded, and the older wolf just gave another soft sigh. "Hey... it's ok... hey..." he holds the teen tightly by the shoulders, not enough to bruise or cause pain or discomfort, but enough to let him know that he's there and not going anywhere. He's going to be there for Stiles, no matter what the circumstance. The boy has at least one member of a pack here. "Show me." 

The look of fear that pops onto the teenager's face then is so haunting, that Derek immediately lets go of him. Stiles looks like he's been struck, and hard. His shoulders slump in on themselves, hunching forward, and he looks worse than he did in the car. In his lap, his hands wring at each other around the hem of his flannel, fraying the turned up edge with the very tips of his little black claws. The older wolf wonders what just happened. "Stiles?" he asks, his voice low and soft, and he reaches up to run his fingers over the young man's wild chestnut locks like he's done a hundred times, to try and get him to relax when the teen blinks. 

He almost misses it as his arm moves, as Stiles' lids work their way back up over his eyes. It isn't much, only a fraction of a second of a flash, but it was there, there enough for him to see at least, and if it had been any other hue, it probably would have blended with the boy's natural eye color. But as it was, the steel blue was unmistakable. He'd seen it in his own eyes, in his Uncle's. He knew to recognize it. And it was there in Stiles. He probably wasn't even conscious about the switch, and was too emotional right now for it to stick one way or the other. 

Either way, when Stiles did finally find out, Derek knew that he wouldn't blame him for the deaths that had happened thanks to the nogitsune's pranks. 

"You look exhausted." he said instead as the boy, not having the heart to tell him what he saw in that instant. He was pretty sure that Stiles wasn't even aware that anything had happened with his vision, as there was no confusion on his face like there had been the first time he had popped his claws, or when his canines had made their first appearance. He stood, using the arms of Stiles' chair to get himself standing before offering his hands to the boy. "Come on, lets get you laying down..." he said, determined to get the boy to relax. 

He was glad when the young were gave a resigned, exhausted sort of nod, allowing Derek to pull him to his feet and more or less herd him over to his bed. He flopped onto his pillow, not even bothering to get under the comforter as he moved over to one side of the bed, toeing his shoes off over the end of the bed. He looked up at Derek as the born wolf attempted to move back to his abandoned seat and take up his book again. "Stay with me?" he murmured. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Stiles." the wolf told him, watching him with gentle eyes. 

"No... no I mean..." he murmured, and gently pat the side of the bed. His eyes cast themselves downward and then sheepishly moved to Derek again, watching as a little grin played out over his face. 

"Ok." It should have been awkward, trying to squeeze onto Stiles' bed with him, especially at his size, but really it was more cozy than anything. Stiles curled up against his side, his head diligently tucked against his pillow as he tried to relax. It seemed to take the boy forever, which was a testimate to just how badly things had been going for him lately, but once he had, Derek was glad to hear the low snores coming from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Traitor" By Daughtry.
> 
> Want more inside information on chapter updates for White Rabbit? follow me [here](http://blueeyedbetameow.tumblr.com)


	5. Americana Exotica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. Let me first start this off by apologizing. This chapter was supposed to be finished and up YESTERDAY, but Stiles (my snowshoe siamese) decided to delete half of a scene that then needed to be completely rewritten. That being said, this is the LONGEST chapter to date, 11037 words. And its my favorite, because it has a little bit of everything in it. It has fluff, it has angst, it has... well, you'll see.
> 
> The POP figures that are described in this chapter do indeed exist, I actually have a set of them that I got from work one day.

The next four days were no picnic, not by a long shot. Each of them drag on more slowly and monotonously than the last. Every day that the full moon looms closer, his hearing becomes more acute, and the ticking of the clocks in each of his classrooms become kettle drums announcing his doom as Stiles trudges along through his classes. New smells seems to pop up out of no where; the lunch ladies across the school burning the mystery meat hamburgers that just look so unappealing these days, or the errant stink bug being trampled in the gymnasium when he's in Spanish, someone accidentally putting too much acid into a beaker in chemistry three lab desks over. It all just seems so much more distracting than it had before, with or without the comforting numbness of Adderall and caffeine.

The entire affair was emotionally wracking for Stiles, who just wished that he could stay home, and maybe just sleep it all off until the big event had passed and hopefully the extra sensitivity would sluff off like a bad scab. Unfortunately, he knew that really wasn't an option, what with his dad and Derek pushing for him not to let the bite get too far under his skin, as far as the changes were going so far. Nor would it be the case, since things were getting worse, seemingly with every moment. His nerves all felt like they were frayed to the very core, and he was pretty sure that everyone around him could now see that he was off. This was including his human classmates, and not just the members of the various packs around Beacon Hills, like Scott and Satomi's. He had never realized just how many weres and other supernaturals went to BHHS until he actually became one. Their eyes seemed to be watching him from around every corner, seeing him for what he really was. Seeing through him. 

Knowing somehow that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. At all. For all he knew his desperation was probably coming off of him in waves. And that they could smell it. 

There was one point about midday, two days before the full moon, where he had thought that maybe the fact that he had smelled alone, that he didn't have the scent of a pack on him would garnish a little bit of sympathy for him. He'd been on his own since his bite, almost a whole month at that point, and it had gotten awfully lonesome. If not from those that he used to call friends, the ones that had blacklisted him in the first place, then maybe from some of the other wolves. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be how this whole omega thing worked. It left him at the bottom to be looked down upon by even the lowest of the betas in the school. Even Ethan, who had been left behind by Deucalion when Scott had taken his place as an Alpha, was giving him sidelong glares from where he had plastered himself at Danny's side. It made his stomach do a few sick little flips, not because he wasn't happy for Danny and all, but because now even Ethan was above him in the pecking order of the world. He was in the pack. And he had tried to kill everyone multiple times. Of course, there were other outsiders in the school, kids like Malia Tate, the werecoyote, but even she was leery of him. It took a few hours for him to realize why that was, but after he'd noticed Kira and Lydia hanging around with her, that had been that. She might be on the fringes of Scott's group, but his former best friend seemed to be determined to leave him isolated and alone. 

He just didn't get it anymore, and he was determined that he wasn't going to try. It just wasn't worth the effort or the heartache that he was putting himself through. He came to that conclusion when his dad made him go to school the day before the full moon, even after he accidentally ran shreds through Roscoe's leather steering wheel binder. "Shit... no... no..." he grumbled with a mournful keen, sitting there and looking at where the puffy white bits of stuffing insulation bulged out like little bunny tails around the neat little tears made by his claws, which had popped out in sheer frustration of just having to get up early to have to go. He looked up at the little picture of Claudia on the instrument panel and gave a sniffle, his nose twitching stiffly as he took in stale traces of her perfume that were nearly ten years old from the stitching in the seats. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he whimpered. 

When trying to stuff the little bunny butts back into their home with the tips of his fingers didn't work, he tried to storm back into the house, just as his dad was coming out to head to his cruiser, travel mug full of coffee in one hand. Seeing the look of pure, unabashed despair upon Stiles' face, he reached out with the other. "Woah... woah... were do you think you're going?" he asked, brow quirking over a concerned blue eye. 

"Back to bed. I just ruined mom's steering wheel." Stiles tried to side step around the sheriff, but the old man followed his motion with one of his own. 

"Oh no you aren't. You missed too much school this year already, Stiles. You need to go in." 

"Dad... come on. Tomorrow's the full moon and I just don't-" 

"So I'll let you skip tomorrow, kiddo, it being your first full moon and all. Shredding the steering wheel is not that big of a deal." The sheriff began to explain, watching the roll of his son's eyes. Stiles knows that his dad has been putting up a brave front, cracking jokes and smiling for him to try and be an emotional anchor point. Not so far below the surface, however, he knows that the man is having just as hard of a time with this transition as he is, if not a worse one. He's been smelling the Jack Daniel's on his dad's breath again in the morning when they get up to eat breakfast together, has been noticing all the late nights he's been pulling at the station, and can't help but to realize that it's just a ploy to get away from him, to distance himself from something he has no idea what to do with. It was the sort of thing that, unfortunately, he was all too familiar with from back when his mother had been sick. And just like back then, he feels like a helpless kid, unable to do anything about it. 

He can't help but to feel frustrated with all of this, to wish that it was just as simple as being able to run away from this problem for him too. There's a bit of him, and he hates to admit this... that resents his father for his actions lately. 

"After all, the Jeep is almost forty years old now, and the steering wheel is probably one of the original parts from the interior." The Sheriff finishes. "Its fine that you need a new one at this point." 

"That's not the..." Stiles shakes his head. "Not the point," he huffed. 

"Its because it's Roscoe." His father sighs, and nods. "And it's Mom. I get it, kiddo. But Mom wouldn't want you to skip school over some shredded leather." 

Finally, Stiles concedes, and after school ends up going to one of the million auto parts stores in the city limits to get a new steering wheel and have it installed. He ended up having to get one for a Wrangler, but it works, even if it isn't quite the same. After all, they don't make the CJ's anymore, thanks to some wonderful oversight on behalf of Jeep-Chrysler. He's just glad that there was something that fit into place for him, and that it's not overly expensive, what with how much him and his dad are still shelling out for Eichen and his CT scans, not to mention those days he spent in the hospital last month and the X-Rays (even if Derek did help to pay for a lot of that). He couldn't say that he was overly surprised when he got home and found that parked in the driveway was the stupid eyesore of a Toyota that Derek-fucking-Hale had traded in his Camaro where his dad's Sheriff Department vehicle had been that morning. Derek had been spending a lot of time at the house lately, and it was really the one thing that was keeping what was left of Stiles' sanity intact at the moment. He honestly didn't know how to tell the older man how thankful he was for his presence since things had gone to shit, but he was sure that no matter what words he could manage to muster, Derek would say he already knew. So he just left things unspoken. At least for now. 

Something smelled awfully good as he was sliding out of the Jeep, gathering up his backpack and the extra homework his teachers had been happy enough to give to him for the next day. He'd told them that one of his cousins wasn't doing too well down in San Diego, and that he was going to drive all night to go down and be with her in the hospital, since his dad wasn't going to be able to make it thanks to his duties up here. He'd never been so glad that the full moon was on a Friday. Or that one of his lies had actually managed to be so believable. Ever. He didn't have a cousin in San Diego. He was just going to have to hope that no one calls the station to inform his father of his plans, or to wish condolences. 

The spices were positively assailing his nose as he walks through the front door, only half-registering that it was already opened as he stepped in. Come to think of it, there hadn't been anyone in the Toyota when he'd pulled up next to it, had there? Derek came over, sure, but he didn't have a key, so he normally waited out in his car with one of his thick-ass books until Stiles came home and let him in if he showed up too early. By the smell of things, that obviously wasn't the case today, and he was glad for it as he turned the corner from the front room to the kitchen. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he got a lungful of whatever Derek had started to cook in there since he'd arrived, and he felt himself swallow hard and watch the muscles in the man's shoulders work as he stood over the counter top, slicing at something with one of the kitchen knives that hadn't been used properly since Claudia had passed away. 

"Derek?" he asked, his throat suddenly dry and making his voice sound like a harsh croak. He moved his way over to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and get a better look at what the older wolf was doing, gaze full of curiosity as he peeked over the plane of toned skin peeking out from under the wife beater he'd decided to wear today. Obviously someone had decided to make himself comfortable, not that it bothered Stiles really. Derek could be as comfortable as he wanted, as long as he stayed around and kept him from clawing his own eyes out. 

He could see that in front of him, Derek was breaking down what looked like a rack of ribs from a brontosaurus, peeling off fat and separating spare ribs from the true bits of rib cage. There was some form of soup boiling away on the top of the stove too, something that smelled like chicken, and he could a stripped carcass sitting in the sink. All of it was enough to make his mouth start to water again, even around his water bottle. "What're you doing?" he asked, since he hadn't gotten an answer the first time. 

His words got him one of those famous stares. The ones that begged him to not be so dense for once. "I'm making dinner." was the simple reply. 

"For an army maybe," Stiles tossed back, watching with fascination as Derek continued to butcher the ribs, placing them along in neat rows on foil-lined baking sheets before slathering them with what looked like a tangy home made wet sauce. "We can't possibly eat all of this, even if you stay for-" 

"Oh yes we can, especially you." Derek replied. "This isn't all for one meal, but considering the way things seem to be going down, I wouldn't put it past you to put down as much of this as possible." He slipped the closed up pouches of ribs on their sheet into the oven and turned to the teenager. "You're seventeen, practically skin and bones to begin with, radiating emotion like you're in heat and the full moon isn't until tomorrow night. You're going to be hemorrhaging calories like nobody's business if you haven't started already with your shift, and being an omega you're going to need everything you can get to either fight off the urge to rip someone's head off or fight off someone trying to rip you to shreds." 

The teenager blinked, unused to Derek of all people being so straight forward and saying so much at one time. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd never heard the guy say so much in one sitting since they'd known each other, and that was saying something. It took a minute for his brain to process all of what was going into his ears before -"did you just say I was giving off emotions like a bitch in heat?" 

"Pretty much." 

A frown came to Stiles' face at that, and he had to fight the urge to throw his opened water bottle right into Derek's big stupid face. He could feel his arms shaking, his lips tightening up like they did whenever he heard Coach's whistle now after that incident on the bus with the cross country team. But then he felt the larger man come closer to him, put one of his hands on the water bottle and take it from him gently, placing it on an empty bit of counter space. He leaned down, rubbing stubble over Stile's freckled cheek by way of apology. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you." he murmured, his breath hot in the teen's ear. "It's nothing that you can control right now, it's just the hand that you were dealt with all of this, and it's shit." 

"Tell me about it." is the only thing that Stiles can think of to reply with, a sigh parting from his lungs. "It's been a long day." Not for the first time he's glad for Derek's presence in the house, and for the older wolf's clinging sense of closeness at the moment. He had grown used to it, grown to crave it in these long desperate days. He leans his cheek against Derek's, taking in his scent and sharing his own with the older wolf. 

"Your dad told me about the steering wheel. He called me at the loft, told me the morning didn't start off so good, that you wanted to skip." the other man's nuzzles tickle against his skin, sending his nerves screaming and making him bite back a giggle when the scruff moves over a particularly sensitive area. This had been what he was looking for all day, just someone to tell him he was worth it, worth something. "I had been planning on coming over tomorrow anyway to spend the day with you anyway. I didn't think it was going to be a good idea for you to go to school the way things have been going." 

Stiles could only manage a nod, his heart melting a bit at hearing Derek's words, that he'd been thinking about spending the day with him. A whole day. On a day when he knows he'll really need someone. He hadn't even had to ask... 

"Told your dad as much," Derek continued, "and what I figured you could use from experience with some Omegas I ran into when I was with Laura, and when we were getting Cora settled in with a pack in South America. He told me to come grab the house keys from him at the station once he heard." 

"So considerate." Stiles grunted out, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice when it came to his father's behavior of late. 

"He's doing the best he can, Stiles. He did only just find out about all of this." The older wolf offers, refusing to let the Sheriff take the blame for what's going on right now. He knows that Stiles and his father are incredibly close, and knows also that any lashing out that the boy might be doing at this point is solely due to the pull of the moon on his emotions. It's never an easy thing for any one of their kind to get used to, especially wolves that have issues with anger or bitten wolves. Having been used as a Druid sacrifice at one point, with a preexisting darkness, not to mention whatever residual energy the nogitsune had left of itself within him, Stiles was a special case, even before all of the mental feather ruffling going on. Because of that, nothing that he said could really be taken seriously at the moment. It was all just emotional babble that had even less filter than normal. He wasn't stopping to think even the slightest. 

But his words seemed to hold some weight with the boy, as the teen had started a nod against Derek's shoulder in agreement, feeling the larger wolf give a wordless grumble against him. He knew the expression well, and could just imagine the face that he was making, probably rolling those grey-green eyes of his under the marvelous eyebrows of his. His motion, however, was cut off by a gesture that Stiles wasn't expecting. A big, wolfy forearm circling under his legs and lifting with hardly a grunt of effort coming from Derek's lungs. He let out a squeak of surprise, doe brown eyes blinking in confusion as he felt himself lifted. His arms went around the larger wolf's shoulders, fingers grasping onto his shirt, thankfully without the shredding sound that he had already learned to associate with his claws popping. He'd already ruined so many sets of sheets that way with the nightmares he'd been having lately. He was glad that Derek's shirt wasn't the latest casualty. 

He allowed himself to be carried from the kitchen, past the small dining room and the living area and into the den where he and his dad sat down to watch the Mets during baseball season. The room, like the rest of the Stilinski house wasn't overly large, but it was comfortable, cozy in a cave like manner, with bookshelves full of his mom's old cookbooks, huge encyclopedias on Californian wildlife, books about birdwatching, and even some on gardening. A few more odds and ends were there too, stuff like how to manuals for parents who's kids had just been diagnosed with ADHD... a really eclectic assortment. They framed a great big bay window, which had a cushioned seat in it. It had been his mom's favorite place. So much so that when she was sick, sick enough not to be able to make it up the stairs anymore, but before they'd had to get her into Beacon Memorial for round the clock care for her dementia, she'd been sleeping down here... in that window. 

It seemed like the den hadn't escaped Derek. There was a stack of movies on the coffee table, mostly campy, trashy horror or action flicks, stuff that he thought Stiles would enjoy, a few comedies, and of course, Star Wars. A huge bowl of popcorn was there too, plus some soda, and what looked like pastrami sandwiches on rye. Not only that, but a huge puffy comforter was already pre-curled against the back cushions of the plush leather sofa, ready to be sat on, cuddled into, and draped over their shoulders like a mobile den. The blanket was too big to be the one from his room upstairs, but just based on the color, and the scent coming off of it, it must have been the one from Derek's bed at the loft. Stiles didn't know how excited he was about rolling into a bed covering that had had other people's bodily fluids on it, but the fact that Derek had made the effort to make him so comfortable meant a lot, especially after what he'd been going through at school. Not only that, but the large, past the point of retirement looking ottoman that was usually parked in front of his dad's recliner had been pulled in front of the sofa too, giving them a place to put their feet or spread out even more if they needed to. It seemed it was just there so they weren't completely right on top of one another if they didn't want to be. 

Of course, the teenager saw none of this until Derek had already set him down in the den, a begrudging sounding huff of 'tada' on his lips, as if all of this had been a burden for him. But Stiles knew better. He had a super nose now too, and he could smell the pride coming off of the older male behind him at being able to provide a safe environment for the younger wolf. At being able to protect... to actually protect someone and not have it blow up in his face for once in his life. This didn't just mean a lot to Stiles, he realized after a long few moments, standing there in awe of the transformation that had gone on in the room that was really only used for the sacred ritual that was baseball season, but it meant a lot to Derek too. 

He turned to face the man, a smile blossoming from the slack-jawed expression upon his face as he did. He moved over, running his arms around the well-muscled torso available to him. He wasn't all that much shorter than Derek was, so he had to bend down to rest his ear against the former alpha's collar. He felt the momentary tension and flex of the man's trap and pecs, the flutter of his heart below his ribcage, before he returned the embrace, leaning down himself to put his nose against the crook of Stile's neck, only momentarily stunned by the boy's actions. 

"Thanks, Derek." he murmured. 

"I didn't do anything." the born wolf began. "Nothing that a real pack wouldn't have been expected to do for so-" 

That caused Stiles to blink a bit, staring up at the molding between the den and the living room. "You didn't do this for Scott though." 

"We were under threat then, and my sister had just been murdered, if you remember." Derek sighed, "And you didn't let me finish. Scott wasn't having nearly as hard of a time with this as you are." 

"Oh... right" But Stiles couldn't help but to wonder if there wasn't something else hiding under Derek's words. Something didn't seem quite right. Something about the way his voice had pinched off, his nose had wrinkled against his shoulder. But his heart had remained steady. He decided now wasn't the best time to ask. Derek was a pretty intensely private person after all. Instead he let go of the older man and toed off his sneakers before more or less sock-skating over the hardwood of the den to the couch and curling himself right up in that big puffy comforter. Just as he had thought, it was Derek's, smelling deeply of him and his aftershave and his blood, and only the tiniest bit like Jennifer, the Durach turned high school English Teacher. He was glad that her presence wasn't more lingering in the well pilled fabric as he curled himself up into an impressive ball, nuzzling the arm of the sofa through the extra padding and having the rest of the cocoon naturally flop over his shoulder. 

There was some discussion about which movie they'd pop into the dvd player first, before Stiles put out there that if this whole huge gesture was meant to be for his comfort, the only real choice was Star Wars. Derek agreed, making what he thought was an under his breath comment about how he'd never seen any of the movies anyway. 

"Wait. Hold up." Stiles nearly growls, feeling like he should sit up to make his point clear, but not even daring. At this point he's already too comfortable and warm all curled up in the comforter to make the effort, so he just settles for giving a golden squinty little glare. "You've never seen Star Wars either? not even the original trilogy? Oh my god. I'd tell you and Scott to start a club, but we're remedying your situation right now. Plus, there's the whole you're not big enough of an asshole for that asshole anyway an-" 

"You do know he's still technically my alpha, right?" Derek asks as he joins Stiles on the couch, handing the remotes for the tv and dvd player over to him and reaching over to put the bowl of popcorn on the ottoman so they can more easily reach it. 

"I pity you for that." Stiles grumbles, reaching his hand out and picking a fistful of kernels from the bowl to shove into his mouth all at once. He skips through the out dated previews and when the menu pops up, starts the first episode of the prequel. "It's actually important that you read the scrolling text." He says, changing the subject. "It gives you background information, setting and stuff." 

Derek looks at him for a second, but then jolts as the title theme suddenly starts to play, bursting out of nowhere through the small surround sound system that the Stilinskis had set up, and accompanied by what Stiles has affectionately dubbed 'the crawl'. His eyes try to keep up with the scrolling yellow block text, they really do, but by the end of the last paragraph, he's sure he's missed something important, and he looks over to Stiles for help, but the young wolf is already engrossed in the stars that are swirling to a view of a Saturn-like space station orbiting a planet, a little red ship fast approaching that. A spark of pride hits him as he notices that the boy's button nose is pushed into his comforter as far as it can go. Its twitching a little bit from what he can see, rapid little pants meaning that he's taking in scent. His scent. 

So Derek settles in to watch the movie too, slouching back into the leather and pulling the other end of the comforter over the front of him. The intrepid heroes are landing on Tatooine when Derek feels something against the side of his thighs, something squirming and squiggly, and looks down to see none other than Stiles' toes, still encased in his sock. He's stretched out one of his long legs, and is prodding at him, trying to get his attention. 

"Can I help you?" His voice is accompanied with a quirk of his eyebrows, his own grey eyes ghosting over to notice that there are amber pools staring owlishly over at him between the rolls of comforter. 

"I'm thirsty." 

"Drinks are right there." Derek points with a nod of his head. 

"I can't reach." 

"How do you know? You haven't even tried yet." 

His reply is a frown and a tiny canine whimper from underneath his comforter. He knows that Stiles is manipulating him now that he's seen that he's getting a kick out of this whole caregiver thing, but he just can't help himself. He knows Stiles has had it rough since his possession, and even worse since getting the bite and having the smell of an Omega all over him for others to pick up on. Getting a little spoiled, he figures, won't kill the boy. If anything, it just might help him a bit. 

So he reaches over for a Mountain Dew, picked because its caffeine content is the same as a regular coffee, something that Derek knows that Stiles drinks regularly, and hands the bottle over. "Better?" he asked after watching Stiles unscrew the cap and take a sip. A nod is what he gets in return, accompanied by a little gesture to hush as he settles back in in time to watch Jar Jar's tongue go numb when he gets too close to a power coupling on Anakin's pod racer. 

"Looks like something you would do." Derek says offhandedly. 

"Dude, shut up, no it's not." Stiles grumbles, and then pathetically asks a second later if he can have one of the pastrami sandwiches. 

By the time the Sheriff comes home, they're half way through Episode II, and a much older Anakin is rushing across Tatooine on his foster brother's speeder bike, and the ribs are done. Stiles pauses the movie so that they can all eat, and ravenously devours one of the four racks that Derek had broken down earlier completely by himself. He sticks out his tongue at Derek when the older wolf judges him with his eyebrows in that 'I told you so' way that he has, and Derek just rolls his eyes. 

The Sheriff is just plain old appalled when his son goes to start gnawing on the bones, showing off his long canines and crunching into them to get at the bone marrow within. There are a few flashes of blue eyes from the teen, true wolf blue, that make his father startle a bit. Luckily Stiles doesn't see the reaction because he's too enthralled with chasing down the creme like delicacy, and doesn't smell the surprise from him over the spices and the cooked meat right underneath his nose either. Derek meets the man's eyes, and gives a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of his head, trying to impart the fact that his son does not yet know about the coloring of his eyes, that he hasn't had the heart to tell him about it yet, and that Stiles isn't controlling this bit of a partial shift that's taking place. The man seems to notice and remains quiet throughout the rest of the meal. 

Afterward, the three of them go back to the den, the sheriff grumbling about how his ottoman had been pilfered, and how this is about the billionth time he's seen any of the Star Wars movies. Stiles rolls his eyes as he mopes back into his spot on the couch. "You can take your ottoman... we weren't really using it." he gripes, looking down as he snuggles even lower into the comforter. Derek can see his shoulders shaking from where he stands, one of them the only part of the teen that he can see other than the crown of his head. "We can watch something else..." he adds, his voice low and sulking. 

The Sheriff's eyes are soft when he looks over at the shuddering ball of blanket. "I was just joking, son," he tries to put a bit of mirth into his voice for the boy's benefit, having never seen him take something like this so hard. Its a bit ludicrous, he thinks. 

"Now really isn't a good time for jokes, Sheriff." Derek murmurs, reclaiming his spot on the sofa as well after pushing the ottoman back to the armchair with his shin. He blinks when he is immediately assaulted from the left by a clinging little spider monkey. Because that's the only way he can describe the sudden jolt of the head that's crashed against the side of his solar plexus, and the arms that have wound like a constrictor around his middle. This time there is a little shredding sound, and the prickly feeling of claws tracking against his skin. He looks down to see little tracks through the fabric of his wife beater, the ruts in his skin have healed as soon as they were created, shallow enough not to matter in the least. Stiles is curled up, small and shaking against his hip, looking so much like how he'd remembered Isaac reacting to his roar back when he was an alpha. But this wasn't even to a raised voice. 

Shaking his head, he ran a hand down over the back of the teen's head and neck, following the curve of his spine to the bottom of his shoulder blades. "It's alright." He murmured, reaching over with his other hand to pull the comforter over the young wolf. "Just relax." His voice was soft, and he watched as Stiles slowly began to get comfortable again, his arms unwinding from their tightly coiled positions after his tiny claws had popped back out of Derek's skin. They instead curled up at his side as the boy started to unwind himself, his head nuzzling against his thigh as he shifted to his side. The sheriff had started the movie up again, and they were watching Sandpeople get slaughtered. Stiles is quiet through the movie, but more subdued than before, lying there in Derek's lap, his eyes half mast. It's almost as if he isn't taking in the movie any more, one of his hands grasping at Derek's knee so tightly that his knuckles are stark white. Under the blanket, the older wolf keeps his hand going over the omega's shoulders and neck. He can feel a vice like tension running all the way through the sinew and the muscle of the boy, down to his very core, and it makes him sigh heavily. Stiles had to have the worst case of rank effected affect he'd ever seen. 

By the time the credits were rolling, the teen seemed to have settled into a more stress free state. His hand, at least, had stopped threatening Derek's jeans and the knee underneath the well-worn denim. The sheriff gave a little look over at his son, who seemed to be in a state of half asleep catatonia, and moved to take the movie out of the dvd player and put it into its rightful spot. As he did, he took a look over the rest of the films that had been placed in the neat little pile. "Alright, Hellraiser is... going to be all sorts of fun with that one" He comments, but then gives his approval to the other films, knowing Stiles' feelings about Zombieland and Donnie Darko (the original, not the follow up). "The remake of Dawn of the Dead is going to get a good laugh out of him." 

"I'll keep that in mind." Derek replies as he extricates himself from under Stiles head, noticing that the teen has, in fact managed to fall into a restful state of sleep. Giving a little smirk he starts to roll the lanky wolf up in his comforter so he can attempt to carry him upstairs. 

"Thank you, for all of this..." The sheriff murmurs as he changes the television over to a preseason baseball game. Spring training time, Derek thinks, watching whatever team it is run around the field on ESPN. "I know Stiles appreciates it more than he can say, having someone around who knows what he's going through, who can understand and who isn't a complete bastard." This comment gets a raised brow from the werewolf, but the sheriff continues, "and I know that if I had to take care of this on my own, I'd be screwing things up more than I could even imagine. I'd be making him worse." 

"He knows that you're trying." The younger man replies, bending down and getting his arms under his burrito of lithe teenager and puffy comforter, making sure to hook under his shoulders and his knees to support him correctly. "It's just a thousand times more difficult for an omega than for any of the rest of us, and the fact that he was bitten, and not born only complicates matters." He doesn't feel the need to tack on the fact that any full moons after this one will be better, that the first is always the worst. Its something the Sheriff will get to experience first hand. Once he's straightened up, Stiles snuggled close up to his chest, he looks back over to the man. "I'm going to take him up to bed. Goodnight." 

* *

Its dark when he wakes up the next day. At the very least, it looks dark when Stiles first opens his bleary sandpaper coated eyes. A groan passed through his throat, dry from sleep as he made a valiant attempt to lift his head up out of the murky gloom, only to find that he was tightly wound up in something and unable to crane his neck anywhere. He blinked again, more successful in clearing away that gritty feeling this time and managing to turn his head and get a better vantage point. He could feel his pillow, and now that he concentrated, he found that he could see the differing fibers of woven bedspread fabric before his eyes, but they don't match the pattern of his newest pillow case, so what the hell is going on? And that's when he notices a bit of fresh air filtering down to him from a hole above his head, and begins to worm his way forward, commando crawling slowly with his elbows, wiggling his hips and his knees. His head pops up and out, retinas stinging from the sudden exposure to the intense light of morning. 

And that's when the entire teetering burrito that was the young Stilinski falls off the edge of his bed with a resounding thud. Obviously there had been a bit too much wiggling in order to try and figure out what was happening. Luckily his head had not hit the edge of his nightstand on the way down, because that would have been incredibly unfortunate. As it is, he can hear the little springs of the Star Wars themed POP! vinyl bobble heads sitting between his alarm clock and his alarm clock. It sounds like Jabba's spring is especially happy this morning, but who wouldn't be with Slave Leia sitting next to him like that? But at least now he's able to escape the confines of the blanket that had been around him, the tight coil having flopped open somewhat in the fall off of the bed frame. In the cold light of day, the blanket turned out to be none other than Derek's comforter. Oh... that's what that was? He'd been curled up in it for so long yesterday afternoon that he must have gotten used to the scent. His hands smoothed the old bed spread down against his lap then, his head taking in the room around him. The last he remembered was being on the couch with Derek and his dad, watching movies after dinner, so how did he get back up to his room? He was still entirely dressed in what he'd worn to school yesterday, so obviously he'd fallen asleep at some point, but when? 

Other than himself, his recently cleared off cork board, jiggly little Jabba and his gang, and the balls of string he used for his investigations, his room was empty for once. No sign of Derek, no lingering scent of his dad poking or about to poke his head into the room to check on him. 

He scooted himself to the side so that he could look over his shoulder at his alarm clock where it sat on his nightstand, where the three little bobble heads were just settling on their stand from their jolt to life a few minutes before. The green LED numerals mocked him as they read quarter to noon out in all their splendor. "Holy shit..." he grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, squinting back up at the clock incredulously once he had most of the offending sleep sand removed. The decision is made that the time stated on his alarm clock is in fact not another lucid hallucination or some strange new bought of lunar dyslexia or something after the third time he's checked, using both his phone and his laptop. A little growl passes from him at this point, and he heads for the stairs, rushing down them two at a time and tripping into the front door as he reaches the bottom and almost catching a doorknob to the eye socket in the process. As he turns, righting himself, he catches sight of Derek entering from the kitchen, bemused look on his face, eyebrows rising into half judgement mode and face pensive in a sort of itching way that Stiles has only noticed on full moon nights. 

"Dude, why'd you let me sleep so long?" he accuses, flustered. 

"You needed the rest. Hemorrhaging calories, remember?" Despite the questioning tone put out by his eyebrows, and the tension in his shoulders, the older wolf's voice is actually almost lambskin soft, low in volume and nonjudgmental for once. "Besides, it's not like you were going to school today anyway." 

The simple logic in that statement causes Stiles to blink a bit, taken off guard by how well Derek had thought this all out. Its not as if he'd ever thought Derek as stupid or lacking in intelligence, because honestly that couldn't be anything farther from the truth. It was just that Derek usually presented as someone who thought with his heart rather than his brain, which was something that got him into a great deal of trouble because he never gave the right amount of thought to the cons of a given situation before rushing headlong into it. "Right." he replied quietly. 

"You ok?" Derek asked then, and when Stiles gave him a nod in reply, he shed a little smile of gratitude. "The soup from yesterday is good to go if you want some. Its usually better on the second day." 

Stiles gives another nod, glad that Derek isn't offering him breakfast food at this hour, and follows him back into the kitchen for a bowl of already hot soup. A frown hits his face as the older wolf forces a Gatorade on him instead of letting him have some coffee or even one of the Mountain Dews he knows has to be hanging around after yesterday. "You skipped breakfast, so you're already low on electrolytes and sugar, just drink it." Derek tells him, not giving him room to argue as he sits down with his own bowl of soup. "The last thing I need is you crashing on me from low blood sugar or something." 

"Why would I crash?" Stiles asks, mouth full of chunks of chicken and sausages and dark leafy greens. "You have met me, right?" 

"Because we're going out for a run when you're done eating." Derek revealed. "It should help to keep you calm during the full moon later, having some of the excess energy run out." 

"So you're afraid that I'll pass out from low blood sugar, but you want me to run until I pass out? That makes perfect sense." This time its Stiles who has judgement eyebrows, though he has to admit that he knows they aren't nearly as awesome as Derek's. 

"I know it doesn't sound like it make sense, but trust me here, ok? I've been dealing with this since I was old enough to walk." 

"Right." So now Stiles is watching him from over his bowl of soup and imagining an itty bitty Derek with his scruffy werewolf cheeks and pointy ears, his big ole' wolf blue eyes shining away in the night, claws and all those teeth. Teeth sticking out of nothing but gums. And then he snorts, because he can't help it. And it's at the worst time ever, because he'd just put a spoonful of broth into his gigantic maw of a mouth. It burns on his way through his nose and he turns to the side, feeling it dribble down his face as he coughs and wheezes around it. "G-g-ho-oh GOD!" he howls out. 

Derek just watches him, used to this sort of thing from Stiles, even if this specific action is more exaggerated than normal. It is the day he would be expecting it, after all. The day of the full moon. He doesn't ask, figuring that if it was important, Stiles would let him know. They've gotten better at this sort of thing in the past few weeks. 

"How... how young do born werewolves start to shift?" Stiles asks after a few moments, and at that Derek understands, giving a bit of a nod. 

"Depends on the individual, and what rank their personality tends to fall into. Natural Alphas tend to start before Betas. The earliest I've heard of it happening is around five, the latest is puberty." 

Stiles nods, looking a bit disappointed. "Your first set of teeth weren't your fangs, were they?" 

"Hell no, but I'm pretty sure Laura's were." 

This starts the younger were on a whole new tirade of snorts and laughter, and when it dies down he looks over at Derek his eyes are gleaming. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her. From what you told me-" 

"You would have liked her." Derek nods, getting up and cleaning out his bowl when he's had his fill of soup, putting the clean dishes away in their rightful places. The teen joins him at the sink after a few moments. "She would have liked you, definitely. I mean, you would have gotten on her nerves at first, but even Cora misses you." 

"Cora misses me?" Stiles blinks, not believing what he's hearing. 

"She's been texting me, you come up every once in a while. Especially since..." 

Stiles nods at that, letting the implications hang. They stand quietly for a while before. "So, you said something about a run?" 

It turned out that by a run, Derek meant a serious run, and he had put serious thought into it. Not that Stiles really believed that he wouldn't have. Normally he would have figured they would have done a few blocks around town, or that they would have gone up to the trails in the Preserve, but as it was, the two of them ended up driving all the way to the next county. Better that way to avoid the members of the sheriff's department and teachers at the high school that would know Stiles and report him for truancy. 

The Little Canyon State Park, where Derek ended up taking them to, was far enough away from Beacon Hills that no one they knew would be there, but close enough that they could get back to town before sundown even if they decided to run all of the trails. As he parked the Toyota in the lot by the main trail head, he gave a little smirk at the slack-jawed expression on the teenager's face. To tell the truth, some of these trails out here were pretty advanced, but he knew that Stiles could take it. "You... have met me right?" Stiles managed after a few moments. "I get winded running twenty yards over flat ground, how do you expect me to do this?" 

"Trust me, it won't be an issue." Derek told him, moving out of the SUV with a shake of his head, sliding the keys into the pocket of the dark denim jeans that hugged his hips like a secondary skin. It perhaps wasn't the best thing to go out and run in, but Derek was used to his jeans, and they didn't bother him or slow him down any. Stiles, however, had gone the more traditional route once he had changed back at the house. 

Both of the wolves winced as the pants of his burgundy and white BHHS Tornadoes Addidas tracksuit, which he had gotten when he had joined the lacrosse team, screeched as he slid out of his seat on the passenger's side of the Toyota. He'd gained an inch or two since he had bought the windbreaker, so it looked a bit ridiculous around his ankles and wrists, too short in the extremities, but he didn't care too much, and stripped himself of the jacket as soon as he left the relative comfort of the until recently air conditioned cabin of Derek's car. It was hot all the way out here, dry in a way that wasn't too oppressive, but that made him want to pant none the less. 

"No, Derek, seriously. I'm gonna have an issue with this. I mean..." Stiles started, still gawking out at the landscape, one had coming up to cover his eyes because unlike Derek, he doesn't have a pair of aviators to protect them from the sun. The scenery was pretty impressive. Beautiful even and actually reminded him a lot of the cross country trails back home, though a lot more advanced. Seriously advanced. 

"Just try to keep up." Is all Derek says before he takes off, giving a shit eating grin from under the colored lenses of his sunglasses. He didn't even give the teen a chance to acclimate to the heat or to even join him at the very start of the trail where he'd been standing since getting out of the car. 

"HE-HEY! Shit!" There are several minutes of flailing as Stiles rushes to catch up, the treads of his sneakers fighting for purchase on the sandy ground, kicking up gravel and dust as he sprinted to catch up to Derek's graceful, loping jog. It was obvious that the wolf wasn't trying to loose him in the terrain, that he was only going a fraction of his normal speed so that Stiles could catch up to him. His fingers scrape against rock as he manages to get himself upright in his scramble and finally catches up to him. "That wasn't funny!" 

Derek chuckles in response, obviously amused as he turns to look at Stiles over his shoulder. He chuckles, shaking his head, and just lays on more speed, forcing the younger wolf to increase his own speed again in order to keep up. They run for hours at variable speeds, sometimes with Stiles at Derek's side, sometimes with him a few yards behind, depending on how fast the older wolf decides to go and how difficult the slope on any of the hills are. They blaze over several trails, through open plains, forest, and even through canyons, sometimes incredibly thin ones. The walls that towered over them in kaleidoscopic oranges and purple layers made Stiles feel increasingly small, like the world was closing in on him all at once. He didn't know if it was a side effect of the imminent moon rise or just that he had developed claustrophobia in the past few weeks, but it was generally a bit wiggy. He was glad when they finally made it back up to the lot where Derek had parked the Toyota. 

The older wolf, of course, displayed no signs of having just run for dozens of miles, and was just as poised as ever, save for the sweat that stained his shirt. It was totally unfair that he looked that good next to Stiles, he thought, as he wheezed a bit and trudged over to lean on the hood of the Toyota. He felt better than he usually would have after even just a fraction of that amount of physical exertion normally. A bit of a runner's high ran through him, even if he did feel like he wanted to dry heave all over Derek's tires a little bit. 

"I told you you'd be alright." The voice seemed distant and dark beyond the insistent pounding of blood in his ears, and a whimper passed through him as he felt something cold pressed against the back of his neck. After a few moments Stiles managed to lift one of his own hands from the hot hood of the car to find what was being used as a makeshift cold pack to try and stave off a heat stroke. He feels a sweating cylinder being held by none other than Derek's hand, and rests his own atop of the older man's, putting on a bit more pressure as a low moan escapes the back of his throat as his body begins to cool down a bit. The older man must have packed a cooler for their run, Stiles thinks. Complete with plenty of ice, because whatever drink this is, its ice cold, at least as far as he can feel. Derek's fingers slide out from under his own as he clears his throat with an uncomfortable sound, "you kept with me really well." There's the sound of little plastic tabs snapping, and Stiles manages to look up to see the wolf sipping slowly at a Vitamin Water. 

He takes his own drink away from the nape of his neck then, and frowns when he finds that it's yet more Gatorade for him. "Seriously, dude?" he asks, watching a questioning eyebrow raise at him. 

"It's good for you." 

"So is Sobe." 

Derek just chuckles, watching for a moment as Stiles struggles with shaking hands and the cap of the Gatorade before he steps in, untwisting it for him and handing the drink back. 

"Thanks." Stiles begrudgingly grumbles back, heaving a bit of a sigh and beginning to gulp down the sugary slur, finding that it's so cold it's almost half frozen. "When did you get all of this, anyway?" he gestures with his sports drink to Derek's vitamin water, the cooler that's now on the ground in front of them. 

"Before I picked up the house keys from your father," Derek replies, looking over when he sees Stiles wince a bit out of the corner of his eyes. "What, do you not like the idea of me having them? I can return them..." 

"No, No..." Stiles says, looking down. He looks over at Derek, seeing some sort of earnest expression on his face, even with the dopey gasses obscuring half of it. He hates those glasses, has since the first time he ever saw Derek wear them, with that shit eating grin like he was king of the world. That had been the first day actually, that he'd ever seen Derek smile. When it wasn't that stupid cocky grin he had to admit that he had a nice smile, though it really only came out when he was around pack. His pack, the one that he had made. It had been making less and less of an appearance lately now that Erica and Boyd had been killed, and that sent a pang through his heart. It had basically disappeared once Cora had gone back to South America. Erica had made Derek smile a lot, if he remembered right. Isaac too. He wondered if the former Alpha missed having him around all the time, knowing that the little shit sniffer used to live in the loft before he'd moved in with Scott and Melissa. "It's just... kind of weird thinking of you using a key to get into my house. You've been there before and you usually just always break in through my window or whatever. I guess, if you have to have a key, I'd rather you have your own copy." he blabbers on a bit, rubbing the cool, wet spot on his neck, just below his hairline but above the hem of his t-shirt. 

"I'll give it back Stiles." 

"No!" he feels his heart clench uncomfortably at the look that Derek's giving him from behind those stupid aviators of his, the little frown that plays at his lips, the way he can see his lashes brushing against the glass. And then there's the sick bit of monotone that he's using, the guarding tone that Stiles recognizes from back in the old days when Derek was still holding everyone out at arm's length to keep himself from being hurt. He hates it. "No that's not what I mean at all. I... I want you to have a key. But what about Alpha Dickbag? I'm not pack, once I have all of this full moon stuff sorted out, you won't really have the excuse to come over and keep an eye on me anymore." 

There's a pause in there that's very raw and unnerving for Stiles as he stops talking, unable to continue for fear of what he might let spill or what his vocal chords might end up doing. Derek looks like he's about to say something, but before he can move his lips enough, Stiles stands up, pushing off against the hood of the car and going over to the passenger side door. "Actually, you know what? It's dumb... can you just take me home, please? I smell like I rolled around in something dead, and it's really not attractive and I feel really slimy and gross. I need a shower." 

"Uh, sure." is Derek's stunned reply as he goes to load the cooler back up, into the backseat this time so that they can easily reach back for another drink if either of them wants one. There's a pensively thoughtful look to his face by the time he joins Stiles in the front cabin, the shocks of the Toyota shaking slightly as they accommodate the extra bulk centering itself on one of the seats. "Would it help if I gave you the spare set of keys that I still have for the my building and the loft?" he asks after a long moment. 

"Jesus, Derek, no!" Stiles scolds. "Why are we still talking about this? I'm not your pack! That's Scott and Isaac and Lydia and-" 

He doesn't want to think about what that means, the prospect of mutually shared territories. It's not like he's family either, like Peter, the only other exception to the rule that he's ever seen. 

"Stiles, I wouldn't even trust Lydia if it wasn't for you, you know that?" Derek asks him then, quieting the teen mid-tirade. He leans across the center console and presses his forehead to that of the younger wolf's in an intimidatingly intimate gesture, the tips of their noses nearly brushing against each other as they share breath. "And I'm pretty sure it was half your idea for Scott to seek me out after he got bit... you know, before you found the other half of my sister's body in my yard." he adds. He doesn't mention anything about Isaac because, well, Isaac was definitely his idea. "Despite your reservations about me, you've saved my life more times than I care to count. Without thought to your own safety. That is what a pack is. You are pack to me, Stiles." 

The teen blinks, sitting there in shocked silence. He can hear that Derek isn't lying, but he doesn't know if that makes the situation better or worse. "What about-" 

"Don't worry about Scott." is Derek's only response, nudging his jaw forward a bit so that the tip of his nose does press against Stiles' for a moment. And then he sits up straight, and gives the doe-eyed teen a sidelong glance over the apple of his cheek. "Let's just get you home so you can shower, you're right, you stink." He grimaces as he puts the car into reverse to pull out of his spot. 

"Asshole." Stiles retorts. 

The two of them fall into a companionable silence on the way back to Beacon Hills, though Derek can read the growing tension in Stiles' body the lower the sun starts to sink in the horizon. To be totally fair, he can feel it in his own body as well, but its far less potent at this point in his life than it is for the youngster. He's had decades, and dozens of full moons in each at which to come to terms with what he has to wrestle with now. For Stiles, it's something completely different. He knows that there's a feeling of wanting to crawl out of his own skin that would have been building all day if he hadn't had brought him out for the run. At least at this point, Stiles is at least a thousand times more sedate than he could have been. He has at least two more Gatorades on the way back to his house, draining them quietly as he stares out the window, free hand tapping without rhythm against his knee. Derek can't help himself and reaches over the console to take it, threading their fingers like he had earlier at the canyon trails, and giving a delicate squeeze. 

He can tell that the boy is anxious about what's about to happen to him as much as he is naturally keyed up by the moon, and that it isn't a good combination. "I'm not going to leave you tonight." he says, feeling Stiles' gaze move down to capture their entwined fingers. "I wouldn't do that, ok? You aren't going to hurt anybody." 

"I-I know." 

It seems that as soon as they pull into the driveway, Stiles is out of the car and bounding into the house and up the stairs. By the time Derek enters behind him, he can already hear the water and exhaust fan running in the bathroom upstairs, signalling that the nervous new wolf has gotten himself into the shower. He tries to zone in on any other sounds above that, anything specific to the teenager, but the mechanical and running water noises are enough ambient white noise to completely cut him off from any heart beats or breathing hitches, and he figures that it's just best to let Stiles be Stiles for now. 

After all, what trouble could he get into up there? 

* *

Stiles was pretty certain he'd taken entirely too long in the shower. Part of him didn't care as he stood over the sink in the bathroom, letting little droplets of water drip from his still soaked through hair and off of his nose and chin as it ran down his face in miniature rivulets. He had a towel rapped loosely around his waist as he stood on the fluffy shag rug amid all of the steam. 

His claws had popped, and he was staring down at his now black finger tips and nail beds were they coiled around the porcelain bowl of the sink, knowing somewhere deep down that if he wanted to he could break the sturdy plaster in less effort than it took for him to throw a lacrosse ball. A bare twitch of one of his arms in the right direction is all it would take right now, and his dad would have to buy an entirely new sink. Just like that. 

He could feel spasms in all of the major muscle groups all across his body, working their way up from his toes to his shoulders in a wave of noxious agony that made his stomach twitch and turn. He could smell Derek's cooking over the fruity tang of soap over his skin, and the mixture was incredibly unpleasant, causing a further lurch that had him reeling over the sink for more than support for long moments. Dry heaving made his throat tickle and burn as acid-charred cells were immediately sloughed off and replaced by fresh ones. A sharp canine whine assaulted his ears as he worked the water on the sink, flushing away evidence and allowing himself to brush the foul taste from his teeth as another wave of pain washes up and over him. 

His skin is screaming with sensitivity, he doesn't know exactly why, but it is. It makes sense, he supposes, for his face to feel that way, considering what every other werewolf he's ever known has ever looked like when they shift. But the entire rest of his body? These are thoughts that float idly through his head as he brushes his teeth, rinses, and spits. Well, at least there's no sign of his human teeth in the bowl of the sink when he does it. He'd been afraid that when he'd stepped out of the shower to see the darkness out of the high window off to the side of the shower that he'd been cutting it way too close. Maybe he was wrong? 

But then he looks in the mirror. Or at least at the mirror, since it's still a bit too foggy from the slowly disappearing steam to see into at the moment. His reflection looks a bit off, and he reaches out to run the palm of his hand over the cool, sweating glass. Nothing but a normal Stiles staring back at him. 

Except for the eyes in his reflection. 

They aren't his eyes. 

They're wolf blue. Like Derek and Peter. Killer of the Innocent Blue, shining and bright as he blinks. Once, twice, even carefully pokes himself in the eye with the meat of a finger, avoiding the razor tip of his claw. Yea, that's definitely his eye shining like that. 

He feels and hears something snap, but it's nothing he's holding. It's something inside. Something painful, his arms reflexively coming around his middle as he stumbles back into the raised edge of the bathtub that doubles as the shower. He takes the shower curtain down with him with a crash and lays there for a long moment. But the snapping and popping aren't over it seems, and the next thing that he hears is an inhuman howl ripping its way from his throat, and its LOUD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger!
> 
> Chapter Title from "Young Volcanoes" by Fall Out Boy


	6. Wash Over Me Like the Pale Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo weakly update!  
> boo AO3 is infecting my laptop... STOPPIT!!!
> 
> The things I go through to make my readers happy. I literally cannot read what I an typing right now.
> 
> So a few things about this chapter. I've read a few different head cannon versions of Sheriff's name... and I can't decide which one I either like better, or if I want to think of my own. So I am just refusing to give him a given name. Which, for the purposes of this chapter, got a bit repetitive and annoying. Also, I hope that you guys never saw this twist coming. But maybe some of you did? -shrug- Either way, have a fluff.

Derek is just crossing over to the stairs to check on Stiles when he hears it. They had gotten home within plenty of time to avoid any near misses with the moonlight and the teenager running off the rails, but then of course Stiles had managed to spend all of their spare time up in the shower. The older wolf had heard him exit it a few minutes prior, the water shutting off, though the exhaust was still on, muffling some of the sound that was going on over his head. It was getting dangerously close to the time when fluffy little Stiles would start thinking that those defenseless little bunnies in the preserve that he liked so much looked like a good snack to start running down. That and his father, and any other friends he had left. The whole affair had started to make Derek understandably nervous, because there was absolutely no way that Stiles would be reacting well to the moon in the least, and they still needed to get him secured somehow. They'd been over the plan time and again, enough so that he knew the teen had it drilled into that hyperactive little skull of his despite having never acted upon it. This whole stunt was just too reckless, even for Stiles.

So he'd been about to go and check on the boy, make sure he was decent, and remind him that this wasn't all going to be unicorns and rainbows tonight - as if there was any way he could have possibly forgotten that fact - when he heard the crashing and tumbling of a body on the floor above. It sounded like nothing out of the ordinary, just like Stiles had tripped over his own two feet again, or like he'd slipped on a bit of wet tile or something. But then, as he was placing a foot on the third step, came something he was hoping not to hear for another hour at the very least. He looked out the nearest window to see the moon hardly even waxing over the horizon - no way that it would be a threat yet from his experience - but the call, the positively inhuman howl that was forcing its way out of what could have only been Stiles' throat was not something that could simply be denied or over written. Something was happening. Something was wrong. 

And then Derek remembered. Remembered back to his first shift, and to Cora's after his. To what had been the first thing to appear on those nights, the very first of the tell tale signs that something primal was lurking just beneath the surface of their skins, something that they could not yet control. Not the tips of their ears, or the feral furrows of their brows, no, something that could be deemed innocuous in most cases, but yet something that was so integrally important to all wolves. 

Their eye shines. 

And Stiles was in the bathroom. 

Alone. 

With a mirror. 

Without knowing about his blue eyes. 

"Shit." The older wolf breathed, racing up the steps three at a time, faster than Stiles had been able to come down them that morning, even with gravity to aide in his flight. Derek has supernatural speed that he can actually control, and it gets him to the door of the bathroom before the howl can die down, and he can hear the sickening cracks and crunches from behind the door even before he gets halfway there, his hearing going super acute with adrenaline pumping through his system. His hand flies to the doorknob and attempts a twist, but of course Stiles locked it before he got into the shower. 

"Goddammit, Stiles..." he hisses under his breath, not wasting any time and squaring his shoulder off with the offending wood. He's going to end up owing the sheriff more than an explanation at the end of this, but he figures that he'd rather Derek owe him a knew door than be left without a son in case Stiles tries to hurt himself. The wood cracks easily enough against his bulky frame, splinters flying into the curio cabinet were the Stilinskis keep a few towels and toilet paper, some back up medications for Stiles, and even a couple of magazines. The door itself bounces off of Derek's shoulder, or at least the biggest chunk of it does, before it lamely falls over the lidded toilet with a halfhearted 'klunk'. Derek takes a half stutter step into the room to stop his forward momentum, his fingers grasping hard and fast on the splintered door frame to keep himself from going too far as the souls of his boots screech against the tile and his eyes survey the damage. 

His gaze first tracks over to the claw marks gouged into the sink. They're not especially deep, nothing some good old sealing apoxy won't be able to fix with a bit of added elbow grease and sand paper. It at the very least isn't completely broken. There are drips and puddles along the floor, absorbed a bit by the shag rug right outside of the bathtub, but otherwise making huge slip-trip hazards all over the place. That brings his eyes up to the curtain rod, which has been pulled from its braces and down into the tub itself. The curtain is reasonably askew, draped over the side of the tub, the rings pulled down by gravity's force toward the bottom of the tub. There were bits of towel strewn about as well, looking as if it had been torn. 

A low grumble meets Derek's ears as he stands there, causing his eyes to flare blue from the sudden danger as he attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. There was an obvious mass under all that fabric and plastic, and it was moving, the source of the sound... but it looked too large to be Stiles as it lurched, attempting fruitlessly to try and find its way loose. The sound was not one that could have been made from a human larynx, nor did it sound exactly like that of a werewolf either, though it was familiar. Removed from the current situation by years in the best of cases, almost a complete decade in the worse, but in either case shrouded in the pain of loss and lonesomeness that had been the life of Derek Hale. 

"Stiles..." he hissed pensively between his teeth, taking a step past the threshold as his brain worked to try and place that threatening sound. All the while, the grumble turned to a growl, and then the thing in tub had managed to find the edge of the liner and shower curtain finally. A liver colored pad of a nose, covered in tiny pores, wet with residual condensation from the side of the liner that had been inside of the shower stall makes an appearance first. The sight was one that caused the blue-eyed beta to still, his eyes narrowing in focus, as it's far from what he would have expected to encounter. A run down of the situation starts to play itself through Derek's mind as he tries to make sense of what it is that he's seeing. The Stilinskis didn't have a dog, no one had entered the house since he and Stiles had come back home, through the front door at least, and to top it all off, they were on the second floor. As his mind was clicking things into place, the curtain continued to recede over the short, white hairs of a long muzzle, one that reminded him so much of those he had seen in his youth. Those of his mother and Laura when they had donned the guises of wolves. The muzzle tipped back, revealing a puffy white throat in one instant, and a white face with shining blue eyes in the next. They were intelligent and focused directly on him, a fear and aggression in them that read danger to Derek as he watched the lips of the wolf peel back from the teeth in a heady, warning snarl. Pink tongue peeled between the incisors of the large beast to further display its obvious distaste of the male so close to itself. 

The large canine hopped from the tub encasing it, sending the curtain rod clattering as its bulk was removed from beneath it. The curtain itself went flying, a few of the plastic rings that held it breaking as it was pulled this way and that. 

As it stood before him, looking confused and lost in this new and extremely human place it began to pace the few steps of the bathroom that it could get to, which allowed Derek to actually get a good look at the canine. It was a small to average size wolf, about a hundred-fifty pounds, set on a thin frame. Its coat was of the purest white, save for the very tips of it's rounded, wide-set ears. The barest splashes of color hit the rims there just there, a deep, familiar chestnut brown. There was the smallest of limps in its gate, its source seeming to be the right front paw of the beast, where the toes looked slightly overextended compared to the other paws. It wasn't exactly that the beast favored the limb, but that each motion with it was more of an effort with the others, as if muscle, and bone had at one point been over used or had healed in the wrong way. 

These things would have probably shouted coincidence to anyone else, to any other human, any other wolf. To Derek, however, who had had a mother who was an alpha and could take on the visage of a full wolf, and then a sister who had been able to do the same, he knew the signs. If you looked close enough at the wolf, the person beneath it was made clear. As he watched this creature, the way it paced, the nervous energy held within it's body and the way no singular part of it managed to stay still in even the tiniest bit, he could begin put a finger on what had happened in those few moments it had taken him to reach the bathroom from downstairs. "... Stiles...?" he murmured, his voice soft. Not only was it the looks, the limp, but there was the scent, the unmistakable mix of medication and the soap that Stiles used, wavering just above the smell of wet dog. 

The wolf stilled slightly in its relentless pacing as Derek's voice broke the relative silence of the room. It's ears flicked forward and then back to lay down against it's skull, and its head lifted a bit. Those eyes of his - because the wolf was definitely a male, there was no doubt about that at this point - fixated upon Derek's then, and there was a glimmer, just a glimpse, of honey golden flecks floating in the sea of spectral blue. There was a recognition in those watchful eyes, that gradually calming canine expression, that gave the born wolf hope. That delicate spark of something made him cautiously, slowly reach out his hand toward the creature standing before him. 

He watched with bated breath, pressing in tiny increments ever onward and into the space of the secondary creature, all the while taking in all the sensory information that he could. He edged forward slightly, having knelt down upon the tiled floor when the wolf had hopped out of the tub in an attempt not spook the beast, wishing to get closer. He tried to keep his heart beat calm and slow, even as he watched the wolf shift uneasily from one foot to another, it's tail beginning to hedge upward between it's hind legs in a suspicious and scared climb toward the hairs upon it's stomach even as its limbs and head began to hunch lower to the ground in signs of submission. 

"Stiles... it's Derek..." he murmured, certain as to the identity of the canine as he watched the glowing twitch of it's eyes from his hand to his face. It was a tick that he had noticed in Stiles many, many times. A whine parted from the back of the wolf's throat, and Derek slowed his approach even more significantly, knowing all the signs of 'bad' when it came to wolves from his previous experiences with Laura. He was pretty sure that his theory was correct, and if this was really was Stiles, then he didn't want to spook the poor kid and ruin the trust that they had been building in the past few weeks. He was just getting his hand next to the the wolf's cheek, having gotten an interrogatory sniff to his palm before hand, when he hears the front door open and shut downstairs with a loud bang that makes even him jump. 

The wolf, understandably, had been frightened by both the sound and his reaction to the point of raised hackles and lashing out. Derek felt the pain more than he had seen the wolf move, felt the teeth puncture his hand and wrist before he'd had a chance to pull back from the snapping jaws. In the same instant, the wall of silken white fur moved by him in a whirlwind of motion, it's bulk and weight throwing even him to his back on the hallway floorboards. He heard the tapping of the wolf's nails against the floors of the home as it thundered its way down the stairs and he worked to right himself, and then the Sheriff's shouts and the desperate, defensive growling of the beast as it worked its way through the first floor like a little tornado. 

Luckily, he didn't hear any gunshots before he'd managed to get himself down the stairs, though their was the tinkling sound of shattered glass hitting the floor that he recognized from the sliding door in the living room that fed out onto the back deck. His breathing was harsh and ragged as he met the sheriff there, the both of them staring out into the night for a few long moments over the torn edges of screen and jagged lengths of glass that had pulled out tufts of white hair from the fleeing canine. 

"Shit." Derek breathed after a moment of trying to track the wolf's movements after it had crossed from the Stilinski's property. In the gathered gloom, however, even with the full moon over head and his enhanced eyesight, the residential area had swallowed him up. Probably before the wolf had even gotten into position. 

"Was that... a wolf that just tried to take my head off?" the sheriff asked him in disbelief a moment later, having to take a few extra minutes to get over his own shock and gather his thoughts. 

"Sort of." Was the only answer that Derek could think of to provide, his gaze finally dropping back to it's natural grey-green hue as he turned to look at the older man. He knew that the answer wouldn't be deemed satisfactory by the man at his side for long though as the father's mind began to slowly work. He hadn't been elected Sheriff of Beacon County just because of his looks, after all. After all, it was only natural. Wolves had not been a natural part of the Californian ecosystem for a very long time, and it was only recently that a few individuals were starting to come back, but that was farther north, along the border with Wyoming, were conservation efforts for the species were more aggressive. This, however, was no natural wolf. "I think it was Stiles." 

"Stiles?" the sheriff asked, incredulity plastered upon his expression. "You think that thing was my son?" 

"Your son is a werewolf now, and this is his first full moon." Derek's reminder was gentle as he turned from the Sheriff to gaze out into the middle distance of the surrounding neighborhood again. He hoped that Stiles would come to his senses on his own and wonder back, but there had been something in the eyes of the wolf... some underlying ferality that he hadn't expected. Something wasn't adding up. 

"Yes but, Stiles said that full wolf wasn't a thing that you guys could do." 

"In most instances, no." Derek said with a sigh, away from the gaping hole in screen and glass. There was nothing out there to see anymore. They had to go and find the boy, and do it sooner rather than later. "In very rare cases, Alphas have been known to be able to shift their entire bodies into the form of a wolf, its a layover from our Greek and Celtic origins with Lycaon and the Druids. Demon wolves and the monstrous alpha that bit Scott are bastardizations of this idea..." He sighed. Right now did not seem like an appropriate time to be giving a history lesson on werewolves when Stiles was out there running around on a full moon in a very deadly skin with no protection, no inhibition, and no way of being able to know what he was doing. If he hurt someone else out there, the boy would never be able to forgive himself. It was bad enough that he already had the blue eyes, and that Derek had let him get the first experience of that on his own. He had to be out there looking for him. "Look, I need to get out there and find him. He's my responsibility. If he hurts someone-" 

"He's my son, Derek. I need to know what's going on here." 

Of course. Right. Derek gave a nod. "Two sets of eyes will be better than one. I can explain in the car." he says, fishing his eyes out of his pocket. 

"Do you think maybe we should call Scott in on this?" The Sheriff says when they get themselves situated into the Toyota and are on the road. 

"No. Scott's already... The two of them are on rocky enough terms right now to begin with. Hearing that I lost Stiles won't make anything any better on either side. The only help I think we can get in this case is Peter, and maybe Deaton. Anything else would be too much." It was a natural reaction for them to call the pack Alpha in on this, when one of his wolves was running amok. Except that Scott had made perfectly clear that Stiles was not one of his wolves, was not a member of his pack. If he even offered to help, it was just going to blow up. No, better to do this on their own terms, get as few people involved as possible. 

The sheriff nods, and while Derek calls his uncle, is on the line with Deaton. The vet is staying late at the clinic tonight anyway with an emergency patient that had been brought in just an hour or two beforehand, and says he'll keep an eye out for any large white wolves, but will be available when they find Stiles otherwise. They end up swinging by Peter's apartment downtown to pick him up to help afterward, with little fight from the older Hale. Ironically, since Derek had taken responsibility for Stiles, the two of them had started to form a bit of a friendship as well. It was still rocky and based on a great deal of sass on both sides as far as Derek could tell, but the two were incredibly intelligent on a level that baffled most people, and the fact that both of them had been relegated to the rank of Omega (though to be fair, Peter had more or less done it to himself after killing Laura) meant that they had had a bit to bond over. 

"You... lost him?" He says as soon as he gets into the car, rolling his blue eyes in his nephew's direction. 

"I may have had something to do with that." The sheriff steps in, begrudgingly taking the blame. It was, after all, sort of his fault for spooking the wolf, even if he hadn't known it had been upstairs at the time. 

"Why didn't you have him locked down already, on his first full moon? You know that bitten wolves are twenty times more dangerous and less predictable-" 

"You're talking about my son." 

"Right now I'm talking about one of us, Sheriff. A wolf. A member of the pack. You're wholly unequipped for this." Peter bites. A glare from Derek through the reflection in the rear view is enough to get him to lean back into the center of the first row of bucket seats, where he had parked himself in his nephew's SUV. 

"He wasn't locked down yet because we'd just gotten back from a run." Derek sighed, deciding to start from the beginning. He'd totally left his history lesson with the sheriff off in the middle, and he was hoping the man wouldn't want to pick it up, or give Peter any reason to ask about why it was Stiles was full wolf either. His head was still aching as he tried to figure that tidbit out himself. However, the full explanation of what had brought them to this moment needed to happen, and now, or Peter could and would still back out of helping them. "He'd gone to take a shower to clear his head, and I didn't expect him to take that long. We were back in plenty of time. I was downstairs making us something to eat and the next thing I knew I was hearing all these crashes so I went to check on him. There was no way he should have been feeling the thrall yet." 

Peter gave a bit of a sigh from the backseat, as if bored with what was going on around him, and Derek could see from his rear view mirror that his uncle was rolling his naturally blue eyes - no wolf involved in it in the least - once more. "Again, he's bitten, Derek. They feel it before we do, and harder than we do. You don't remember what it was like before you had control." 

"I remember enough. It wasn't that long ago." 

Then the moment comes that he's been dreading since they picked Peter up. "So, why is my son a wolf?" the Sheriff asks, before turning to look at Peter as much as his seat belt will allow, "and I don't mean as in regular were, I'm not an idiot." His gaze is back on Derek now. "I'm talking, full fledged fangs and teeth, ears and tail." 

Derek sighs, white knuckling his steering wheel to anchor himself as he hears Peter roar with laughter over his shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous Stiles would never be able to do that. That's a trick that only presents itself in Alphas, and even then only ever rarely." 

"Well, he did it. Why do you think we're on our way to the Preserve with a bag of his dirty laundry?" 

He can feel when Peter's gaze locks on the back of his head, feel the blue pinpricks lance at him, trying to get a reaction. "You failed to mention that juicy little tidbit." 

"I hoped I wouldn't have to, but it's true." He knows that Peter is listening to his heart for signs of lying now, and knows it would be an insanely bad idea now that he and Stiles have come to... whatever sort of friendship passes between the two of them, to lie to Peter. "When I went to check on him, I found a white wolf." He sighed, trying to center himself. "I've known of Betas being able to transform like that. Laura was able to when she was small. Mother said that it meant that she was supposed to be her successor one day, but I don't know what it means for an Omega to be able to..." 

"They shouldn't. They aren't supposed to have the power to shift like that. It's why I can't anymore." Peter pipes up after a moment. "Moreover, most of the wolves that can pull off maneuvers like that, their pelt, it's black Derek." 

"Like Mom's and Laura's." Derek nods. "Even yours and Duecalion's. I know." They're at the preserve now. Its the only place they can think of for Stiles to have gone, since there are natural caves here that coyotes use for dens, and wolves have been known to steal from their smaller cousins, especially when they are alone. When they step out of the car, he gives a sigh. "But his was definitely white, pure white. Except for his ears. The tips were chestnut colored, like his hair." 

Peter tips a brow at him, and even the Sheriff looks confused at this information. 

"I almost got to him before you came home." Derek had been holding that information close to the vest, knowing it would upset the man, who just gives a sigh, moving around to the back of the SUV. They stopped off at the sheriff's station before they had gotten Peter, and had managed to pick up a dart gun that the department kept on hand in case of emergencies and if the Fish and Game authorities can't be reached in time, as well as a few rounds without much of a fuss. It is, after all, early spring, and there are reports of rogue animals that pop up every now and again. Especially in Beacon Hills. That having been said, the people from the California Department of Fish and Game had been more than happy to train the sheriff's department on how to use the dart rifles themselves if the need ever arose. It was better, they said, than opening up their own branch office in Beacon County, which the Department just couldn't afford right now. And besides, who was ever going to question the sheriff when he shows up citing an emergency after having just left work? 

So, unfortunately, that meant that the man had a rifle that he was now forced to aim at and shoot his son with. Fortunately, it was loaded with bear tranquilizer, enough that, both Peter and Derek agreed, would allow them to get Stiles back to the clinic without him freaking out in the back of the Toyota, and hopefully give them enough time to figure out how to fix this in the meantime before he woke up. 

The hard part would just be finding him. So while the Sheriff was setting up his rifle, Derek and Peter were rubbing their noses in Stiles' dirty shirts, which had seemed like a much better alternative to his lacrosse uniform. The three of them start through the forest then, and almost immediately he and Peter get a hit of scent from off of the trail. They don't take off, following it as closely as they can with the Sheriff lagging just behind them. It drives Derek a bit nuts to be going at such a slow pace knowing that they're close, but he knows that they can't really go any faster, not without running the risk of loosing Stiles' father and possibly causing him harm as well. It makes him wonder if this is how the station bloodhounds feel. 

They follow the scent trail for well over an hour before they arrive at what looks like the scene of a massacre. It reminds Derek of when he discovered Stiles injured in the woods not too far from here, but worse, much worse. There's viscera strewn about, not eaten, but obviously worried by tooth and claw, arterial spurts here and there among the leaves strewn across the ground and the low lying limbs and bark of trees. The bodies, if you could call them that, are all but unidentifiable by sight, bits and pieces of them torn asunder and left lying flung far afield. In fact, it's not until Peter kneels down right next to where the bulk of the bits rest, almost ruining a pair of five hundred dollar boots as he does so and nearly sticks his nose into one of the corpses that the trio can even tell what the ripped things had once been. "Mountain lions." he says with a curl of his lip. 

"Mountain lions?" The sheriff asks, looking around at the assorted horrors strewn about their feet. 

"It makes sense." Peter goes on as he stands, not allowing a follow up statement to pass from his lips as he continues on the trail, obviously content to let the Sheriff figure out that mystery on his own. 

Instead, the missing boy's father looks to Derek for explanation, assuming he will get one from the less talkative of the two Hales. 

"A mountain lion... a mother and it's cub, he thought, were what had hurt Stiles enough to have caused him to need the bite in the first place." Derek offers, falling into step a few paces behind his uncle on the trail. "If he's the one that did this, it's retribution for what happened to him, which can be a natural reaction for bittens sometimes." 

This the Sheriff finds satisfactory enough to leave be, and follows the werewolves. Peter had said that the bodies were still warm - meaning that they hadn't missed whatever had killed them by much - and Derek hoped against hope that it was Stiles. Surely the cats had put up a hell of a fight and whatever had done that to them had to be injured and suffering right now. If Stiles was in pain out here, again... 

"DEREK!" 

He hadn't realized that he'd somehow fallen behind the others until he heard Peter's shout and was suddenly rushing to find his uncle. The terrain here, in this part of the preserve looked somewhat familiar, as if he was floating in some sort of dream, but he couldn't place why or from where or even when. His eyes roved over his surroundings, the dead scrubs, the grove of trees that he had to pass through as he followed his nose, finally taking in Peter's form kneeling over that canine body that he had seen back at the house at the base of a huge tree stump. Some of the white was stained or matted red, especially around the front paws, shoulders, throat and face; but there were the little brown tips of the ears, the flattened toes on one foot that he'd noted earlier. 

"Derek, is this-" Peter had heard him approaching and was asking hurredly. The wolf's eyes were closed, chest taking in deep steady breaths and Derek noted that his uncle's hands had disappeared beneath the thick, white fur. 

"Yes, what is-?" 

"Is he ok?" that was the sheriff, who Derek had charged right by as he had come up upon his uncle. 

"There's no wounds, he's already healed..." Peter said, rocking back from his crouched position to let out a relieved sigh to whoever was listening. He chuckled a bit. "He's just exhausted. He must have come here to rest. He's asleep." 

Derek lets out the breath that he hadn't been sure that he was holding, and runs a tentative hand over the soft, short fur of the white wolf's face, taking a silky ear into his hand and ruffling it between his fingers and his thumb. Though the canine doesn't wake, it grumbles from his ministrations, tilting its head into the touch. "Shithead..." he sighs, and then looks up at the Sheriff. "Wait, you mean you didn't dart him?" 

The boy's father shakes his head. "No. I was just walking with Peter, and then he took off, saying the scent pool was strong." 

Peter nods were he's sitting on the ground. "He was just laying there." He makes a gesture to Stiles with his chin. "But why here?" 

Derek continues to run a soothing hand through the wolf's fur as they stand there for a moment. When the silence is broken, its the Sheriff who finally does it. "I think he recognized the place." he says. When the two Hales give him the same questioningly cocked eyebrow, the man begins to elaborate, "Last year, when that Druid had taken Argent, Melissa and myself, this was were we were being held. Well, underneath, in a root cellar." 

"The Nematon, of course." Peter murmurs, looking back to the tree stump. "It would call out to him, being a werewolf now." He begins to stand then, and looks down at Stiles' prone canine body. "We should get him to Deaton. He might know something we don't about all of this, especially how to get him back to his skin. I was still half comatose when I started transforming, so I really couldn't be of much help in the area." he says, holding a hand out to Derek, though it isn't to help his nephew off of the ground. 

The younger hale gives a nod, and hands his keys over for when they get back to the trail head already seeing what his uncle had planned. In case Stiles happened to wake, he should be in the back with the wolf to keep him calm since he'd been close enough to him to almost succeed earlier. Putting one arm under the wolf's chest in front of the shoulders and the other under its abdomen, he hoisted the beast into his arms and cradled it close to his chest. There is the tiniest whine of protest at the motion, but other than that, Stiles is still as he's carried through the woods. Derek lets himself fall behind a bit so that Peter and the Sheriff can run ahead and get the seats down in the back of the Toyota. It'll just be easier to load the big wolf in through the back hatch and sit in with him, he realizes, and hopes the two of them come to the same conclusion. 

Luckily, when he gets up to the little lot at the top of the trail, he sees that they had. The hatch is already open, and Peter has already gotten into the driver's seat, leaving the Sheriff waiting to close the hatch once Derek has gotten the canine and himself situated. It doesn't take long, just one long slide and then he's in, sitting cross-legged right by the back door. As he hears the hatch shut he's pulling the large head of the canine into his lap, just to hold it and run his fingers over the soft fur there. Stiles seems more relaxed than he has in months, and in that moment, Derek decides that it looks good on him, in spite of the fact that this is not the boys normal skin. There are a few soft noises, almost snores passing from the canine every few moments as they drive, but other than that, the ride to the vet's office is incredibly quiet, almost eerily so. 

Peter parks them in back, and Derek has to wait once again to be let out of the back hatch, but doesn't mind too much as he once again scoops up the wolf and scoots himself out of the back of his car. Deaton, true to his word, is waiting for them at the back door, giving a small shake of his head when he sees the shape of the boy in Derek's arms. "You weren't kidding." he says, looking over at the older Stilinski, who gives an exasperated roll of his eyes. 

Derek brings Stiles into the back exam room and lays him down on the cold table, running a calming hand over the wolf's fur when it whimpers at the loss of extra body heat on one side and the extra cold on the other. He watches as the vet begins to palpate the wolf, looking for wounds or broken bones. "He's in good condition." 

"We checked him out when we were still out in the preserve," The sheriff murmurs, "apparently if he had been wounded, they've healed." 

Derek and Peter both nod to this, though both of them are watching the wolf as it lays still upon the table. "So I take it-" 

"He didn't hurt anyone out there." Derek breaths. "It's animal blood." 

Deaton gives a soft nod then, and continues to quietly look over the fluffy white wolf. His expression is gentle and his hands delicate in their ministrations as they cover every inch of the male's body, checking teeth, eye response, the inside of each ear, and the range of motion of each of the wolf's legs and toes. Off to one side, the Sheriff gives his head a shake. "He has never slept this soundly before, are you sure there isn't something wrong?" 

"Insofar, yes." Deaton murmurs, looking up from his exam of the man's son. "You wouldn't know this, Sheriff, but shifting takes a great amount of energy. Even just the partial shifts that most werewolves are capable of in modern times, which is why werewoves have such a high metabolism, especially during the first few months. Imagine a change like that, because I know you've seen these two," he gestured with a hand to indicate Peter and Derek were they stood, "but overtaking your entire body, and not after you've already gotten used to all of the changes that your body will be having to go through like most of the wolves who go through this change. No, yours happens on your very first full moon." The vet sighs, his head ducking back down to go back to his examination. "The only real comparison that I can draw it to in humans is blood draws. You've had fasting draws for your cholesterol, haven't you, Sheriff?" 

There is a begrudging grumble from the corner of the room where the man is standing, and everyone knows that he understands. 

Its then that Deaton stops. He has Stiles' rear left ankle in one of his hands, and is holding the leg up and out of the way, look of deep contemplation on his face. "Did either of you see this?" he asks, looking to both Peter, where he's sitting on one of the other steel holding tables opposite, and Derek, who is still petting Stiles' head. The two Hales share a wolf before Derek looks over to the mark that Deaton is currently inspecting. He runs his fingers over the short, white hair covering the wolf's inner thigh, and as he leans over, Derek is able to see a pattern of dark fur there, going all the way down to the skin. Its a familiar sight to him, three arms of concentric spirals chasing each other in the manner that time does upon a clock. 

A triskele. 

He knows that his face goes pale when he sees it. He can feel his teeth grinding uncomfortably within his jaw, and his hands stop petting the white wolf upon the table instead to hold the stainless metallic edges. The breath is nearly taken out of him by the blow. Because that is not just any symbol... but that is his symbol, his pack's, his family's. The very symbol emblazoned between his shoulder blades upon his back. He can feel Deaton's eyes on him, questioning. 

"It goes down to the skin." the vet murmurs. Peter hasn't moved, but is watching the two of them with interest. He knows the stormy look plastered upon his nephew's face and knows that it is best not to pry now. 

Unfortunately, the druid and the older wolf seem to be the only ones, as the Sheriff has stepped over as well to get a look when neither of them prove willing to answer questions that they have barely heard over their own thoughts. It takes one look at the tattoo upon his son's canine leg to send a blinding rage coursing through the man, enough for him to throw a sucker punch straight to Derek's jaw. It's so out of character for the relatively mild-mannered sheriff, and so unexpected that the young werewolf is sent reeling back a few paces, blinking in confusion as a hand comes up to his chin. The sheriff is heaving for breath, having put every ounce of strength he had into the hit, looking disheveled as he stands there. "How dare you, you sonovabitch." he growls out. 

Peter is on his feet in an instant to support his nephew, claws and fangs and glowing eyes, but Derek holds a hand out to stop the man, placing it across his chest as he stands straight. "You think I would do that?" he asks, his face soft as he gestures over the Sheriff's shoulder to the sleeping wolf, who is now twitching a bit where he lays, like he hadn't been doing before. A low whine comes from the animal's throat and his lips peel from his canines as if suffering from a nightmare. "I didn't do that." 

"Stiles is too squeamish to have gotten a tattoo." 

"And even if he'd had one before hand, when he got the bite it would have healed." Derek argues, watching as Deaton puts the canine's leg down. "He was there when I did Scott's bands, he knows what's involved for us, and trust me, he told me that day that he was not at all interested in being marked like that." 

The sheriff doesn't look convinced, his eyes moving from Derek to the wolf on the table as it continues to stir a bit. Deaton is backing away a bit more, and moving around the table so that he's closer to where Derek had been standing. 

"So where did it come from then?" The sheriff demands, looking to each of them in turn for answers. 

There was silence through the room for the longest time, no one moving, anyone hardly even daring to take a breath as they stood there. Slowly, the wolf on the table began to right himself, his eyes, blue as they had been in the bathroom, but shining lowly and looking sad and as if knowing he was in some trouble. His front paws flopped off the front of the table, and he rested his chin upon them, his ears laying back as a low whine passed through him. Derek wished that he could move over to him, but with the Sheriff between himself and Stiles, and in the state that he was in at the moment, he didn't dare. 

Deaton had watched all of this with soft eyes. "It is possible that the mark came from Stiles himself." he said after a long while. 

Peter is the first to straighten up after hearing this theory that for the most part seems straight out of left field. "Oh." 

"OH?!" the sheriff hisses at him, his voice a low crack of thunder as he points a finger to the offending thigh as if it had been on fire. "My son has your family's mark on the inside of his leg and you want to accept the fact that he somehow did it himself?" 

Stiles' blue eyes shift over to his father and he whimpers, his tail starting to scoot between his legs as if in an attempt to hide the triskele. 

"No, no. Don't you see?" Peter stammers excitedly. "It makes perfect sense! He's an Omega." 

Derek's eyes widen, and then he looks to Stiles, who is laying there on the table with his eyes cast to the tile floor. He looks so incredibly sad, even more so like that that it's hard for him to stay even this far away. He has to admit that what Peter and Deaton are saying is making perfect sense. 

"You think that means anything to me?" Stilinski was shouting. 

Stiles whimpered again, putting one of his paws over his muzzle and whining hard. 

"It should, because you're hurting him with all your shouting." Derek says softly, his voice a whisper. Stiles lifts his head as he hears the voice, his ears picking up and his tail wagging a bit here it rested between his legs. "I know, I'm here." he said, his voice soft as he moved to step closer, his eyes flicking to the sheriff before going back to Stiles. The wolf whimpered, shifting in place a bit and licking at his lips for a moment as Derek reached out a hand, and soon a warm, wet tongue was plastered against his wrist, and the younger Hale was standing right before the wolf, the canine's head plastered against his abs as his fingers moved through the soft fur at the back of his head. 

"Stiles..." Sheriff Stilinski murmured then, and his voice is tentative. He doesn't know how to react to any of this, even now. Stiles is obviously feeding off of that, able to read even the most subtle of chemo signals and body language that the others couldn't even begin to pick up on in this form. He manages to look over Derek's arm at his father but then whimpers again, his tail stopping in it's little thumps against the steel table and his ears laying back against his skull again as he buried his head against the former alpha's other side. 

"Do you know what Omegas are, Sheriff?" Deaton asks from where he is standing, his eyes moving from Stiles scent marking Derek's shirt with his cheeks to the only rigidly defined human in the building. 

"They're the bottom rung of the pack, the one that gets picked on." 

"Partially, yes." Deaton says. "But with real wolves, they are also the ones who instigate play and stress relief within the pack. They will often go straight up to an alpha during times of plenty, times of peace, and start a game of play chase and keep away in order to keep the alpha's mind and body in top condition. They do this with the other wolves too, making sure that the pack is healthy. They're a jester of sorts, and their main purpose is to keep the pack together." 

Stilinski didn't look as if he was understanding what this had to do with his son, though Derek and Peter were looking to each other with meaning. "And the fact that you found him at the Nematon," the vet went on, "is only more telling." 

Derek gave a soft breath. The Nematon had been a place of power for their pack back before the fire. Back when his mother had still been alive. He began to wonder who the tree was going to pick to fulfill the rest of its obligation. The plan, to him, seemed clear, even if the Sheriff still wasn't getting it. 

"More telling for what?" 

"It's time to get the family back together." Peter said with a soft smile, reaching down to ruffle Stiles' fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Baptized" by Daughtry


	7. I'm Right Here; Day after Day, Year after Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, guys. I really wanted this to be up earlier, but I've been having terrible panic attacks lately that have just been draining everything out of me. Trying out some new meds, plus I got approved for an ESA for work (thank you state laws). For more on that if you guys are interested, and as always for more developments on WR chapters, you can follow me on Tumblr at blueeyedbetameow.tumblr.com

He stood there, door to the loft slid open wide as it could go. The old factory had never felt much like home, not like the mansion had. Even in its current desiccated, rotting, condemned state, the place of his birth had always been more of a home to Derek than anywhere else in Beacon Hills or even throughout his worldwide travels. It lacked every warmth, every sort of decoration or personal touch that normal people, that humans, looked for in order to make their house a home. It held little by way of furnishings even only having a bed here, and a couch there. The loft had always served the purposes for which he had purchased it. It was a place for him to eat, to sleep, to hide away from the world when need be. Now, however, as Derek stood there, looking around at the open floor plan with Stiles' backpack full of homework hanging from his fingers from it's little nylon strap, he had to admit how completely empty it seemed, even to his eyes. How cold and calloused. There was nothing of his personality at all in the space, even after how long he had occupied it, how much blood he had shed here. How sad the other's must have believed him to be just because of the way in which he kept his home. His dungeon, his den. He had kept few possessions since the fire. It had started as a way of keeping everything and everyone at arm's length, but had since evolved into the fact that he had just never felt the need to fill his life with things. The fact remained however, and it was a simple one, that if he had nothing to loose, there would be no fear of loss. At least that was what he told himself.

But the last few hours had thrown all that into question. Everything philosophy that he had held onto so close to his chest since the fire, since Laura had died, had all gone up in figurative smoke once Stiles had transformed. And now, he was standing here, at the entrance to his loft, with a hundred-fifty pound white wolf right at his heels, looking up at him with questioning blue eyes. Earnest eyes. Eyes looking to him for answers, for some semblance of order in his own life, which had been irrevocably turned upside down, for some sort of order. As Deaton had told him earlier, the little ball of white fur was looking to him as a leader, an alpha, even if he wasn't one at the moment. Stiles didn't care what he had done, how he felt, what he thought of his home and his inadequacies, or his insecurities. He was currently leaving in the moment, and he just wanted to know what to do. What Derek wanted him to do. They had all decided back at Deaton's office that the best thing for the wolf would be to be with what he considered family, what he considered pack right now. It would help to ground him, keep him anchored to himself for the rest of the full moon, and hopefully allow him to transition back to human his human skin easily. Deaton had never seen this personally in an Omega before, and so he was going off of ancient theory and anecdotes from other druids that had possibly left out bits of their experiences, so he was hoping he was getting this right, mixed with his experiences of when Talia and Laura had gone through this same transformation in their younger years as alpha wolves. Stiles himself hadn't seemed to want to leave Derek's side in any case, no matter what anyone had said, or what arguments had been shot over his fluffy white head. 

Stilinski may not have liked it, but according to the mark that now adorned Stiles' inner thigh, that now meant the Hales were the ones that the wolf felt the most comfortable with. At least for the night. Derek had acquiesced to all of the theories that had been buzzing around, having grown to trust the Druidic veterinarian over the last few years since he had come back to live in Beacon Hills. As such, the group of them had gone back to the Stilinski house, where he'd stayed in the car with the weight of Stiles' head heavy upon his thigh, telling the Sheriff that he'd pay for the damages to the house before the older man exited the cabin of the Toyota while Peter had gone in to collect, of all things, the boy's pillow, and his backpack filled with homework, Derek's comforter rolled securely within the arms of it. He knew the boy would be out of it in the morning, if he managed the transformation over night, but that he had two days worth of assignments to complete. Derek was going to make sure he did them. 

"He says the boy can't sleep without his pillow." Peter says with a sarcastic grumble as he gets back into the driver's seat, placing his parcels on the empty passenger side next to him. Derek just rolls his eyes and gives his head a shake. They both knew better, after all, they had found the wolf sleeping with his head popped up on a tree root not that long ago. In his lap, Stiles gives a whimper, lifting his head a little and looking around, even shifting his shoulders and trying to see into the front seat, as if wondering where his father has gone to in the last several minutes. But then his nose starts to twitch from catching a familiar scent, and Derek gives another little shake of his head as he reaches up into the seat to snag the plaid-cased pillow from next to Peter and put it down beside him. The wolf calms, and immediately his head shifts from Derek's lap, to right atop of the downy goodness, his shoulders heaving with a large sigh as the tip of his white tail begins to wag. It is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing that Derek has seen to date. 

"If you want to come over, the couch is open for you." Derek tells Peter after a moment, leaning against the back of the seat so that he can look over and see his uncle, who spares a glance in his general direction before returning his eyes to the road. 

"Perhaps. If I do, I'll bring food." 

Derek gives a nod. It's now well past the time that he would have had them eating dinner, perhaps ten or eleven o'clock, and he knows that he's starving. He can only imagine how Stiles' is feeling, though every few minutes he can feel the grumbling rumble of the wolf's empty intestines against his leg where the flank is pressed against his own flesh. At least he can chalk that up to mean that the wolf hadn't consumed any of the mountain lions that he had slaughtered in the woods. He'd hate to have to explain to the teenager why he now had to be treated for intestinal parasites. 

Though, honestly, he might just toss that out there for shits and giggles in the morning anyway. It would serve Stiles right for all the running around he had made them do for no reason tonight. 

So, they'd dropped Peter off, and Derek had switched to the driver's seat for a whine filled ride home, and that was how they'd ended up here. Standing in the open doorway of the loft, Stiles staring up at him, unmoving save for little quivers of his jaw. The walk up had been a bit interesting. Stiles had looked at the first few steps as if they were aliens, and Derek had had to put down the pillow and bag and come up behind him and teach him like any other puppy. He'd put one front paw on one step, one on the next above, and then pushed his rump until Stiles hopped up upon it. After repeating this a few times, the wolf seemed to remember what stairs were, what the mechanisms of ascending them were, and just started to climb. And climb. And he'd known when to stop, which had been good, because Derek did not want to have to chase him through the floors. At least, if he'd had to do that, there were no neighbors that would have been bothered. Derek owned the entire building, and except for his loft on the top floor, the old warehouse was entirely deserted. He was in the middle of remodeling different floors and rooms for certain things, places to train, there had even a place to lock Stiles down in in case there hadn't been an accommodating enough place at his own house for tonight. That… obviously hadn't worked out either way, but at least it was there. 

"Well, go on." Derek says, waving into the large space with one hand, unbelieving that he has to invite the canine in. Usually Stiles is the first to barge into anyone else's space, but this Omega thing has obviously ingrained itself in him pretty severely. Maybe more so in this form than he would have thought, than it had in his human form. 

He watches as the tail of the wolf begins to move in excited little trembles that break into active back and forth wags that are so incredibly enthusiastic that they travel almost all the way up the entire length of his spine to his shoulders. The entirety of Stiles' body just pulsates with happiness as he gazes up at Derek, the emotion so palpable that it moves into even his vocal chords, making them shake in a little grumbling, "Rrrrrruuuuuuuuooooo?" sound that reminds Derek of a precursory howl before every ounce of energy within him seems to explode and he actually leaps a foot off of the floor and starts darting around the former alpha's legs right there in the hallway. He does this a few times before actually weaving in between them and taking off into the open floor plan of the loft, darting from the spiral staircase to the half-demolished brick wall that he'd never gotten around to making into an actual doorway and back before finally catapulting himself onto the bed. 

The antics are almost enough to knock Derek straight on his ass outside of the industrial door, though he does manage to catch himself before that happens. He walks into the space, sighing a bit as he watches Stiles roll around on his bed, happily rubbing his scent all over the sheets, since Derek has his bedspread still rolled up inside of the arm straps of the boy's backpack. He places Stiles' schoolbag down next to his sofa, pulling the comforter out and going to sit, letting out a little huff of his own. His eyes wonder over to the wolf as he rests the roll on the couch with him. "Ok, enough of that." he calls gruffly over the otherwise dead air, and is surprised when, a moment later, he hears the wolf's toenails padding over toward him, and then he feels the weight of it's head on his knee. 

Soft blue eyes watch him, looking almost apologetic, and Derek reaches down, tussling his soft ears. "It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong, and I didn't mean to snap." He says in a softer tone. After a moment he pats the sofa next to him, and is rewarded by feeling the cushions next to him dip a bit with the weight of the wolf hopping up with him. He feels the warmth of the little bundle of white snuggling up tight against his hip, its muzzle and one paw draping over his thigh. 

A sigh passes through Derek as he lays a hand over Stiles' head, keeping the little wolf in close to him. "You know, you're smarter than the rest of us?" he asked, his eyes remaining forward as he starts to run his knuckles over the short hairs lining the top of the wolf's muzzle to the space right between his eyes. "You figured out that one pack, even two packs in this town wasn't working for the amount of wolves here. That the alphas available weren't catering to the needs of those in the packs. So you made a decision, whether or not it was intentional. Hell, maybe it was just instinct. It might have been just for you at first, but you're helping the rest of us too." He couldn't help but to smile as he looked down at the wolf in his lap, who, as he stopped in his gentle petting for a moment, glanced up at him as well, his tail starting to thump happily. He wondered, briefly, if he was perchance giving the white little fluff contoured against him a bit too much credit. They had found him at the Nematon after all. Maybe it was the tree's will that this should happen. As he looked down into those eyes, however, he remembered how truly intelligent Stiles was. Perhaps the guardian tree had something to do with this current situation... but he doubted that it was the entire source of all that had gone on. 

"You are quite the wolf, you know that?" Derek asked, and watched as the muscles in Stiles muzzle somehow managed to pull up at the edges in a sort of canine grin. He reaches out with one paw, and slapped it down in Derek's lap as if to say 'and don't you forget that', to which the former alpha couldn't help but to grin. 

"Yea, yea..." he tells the wolf with an exasperated sigh. He leans back into the couch for a few moments, closing his eyes. Despite the fact that he hasn't shifted at all tonight, he feels drained. Its just the nature of the full moon and its pull on them, the energy it takes for them to try and keep in control, to keep themselves from killing. Having been provoked by the sheriff earlier hadn't helped matters much for him, though he knew he'd had to keep his cool for Stiles. The newest member of the pack, if they were to go off of the already existent Hale numbers, had already been suffering enough back at the vet's office. He didn't need to see Derek go off the rails on his father as well. It seemed like a few seconds later that the door was sliding back open, with a bit of a growl from Stiles, the wolf's hackles raising. That fact alone let Derek into the fact that the two of them might have drifted off for a while. Especially since he was now smelling food mixed in with his uncle's scent coming from the direction of the hallway. 

"Oh come now." Peter's voice was what caused Derek to actually open his eyes, as he had just allowed Stiles to take care of the 'possible intruder' on his own with his menacing growls, and also had Stiles settling. The wolf, hearing the familiar tone and able now to recognize the scent, jumped off the couch in order to amble over to Peter in greeting. His tail wagged eagerly back and forth as his tongue lolled from his maw at the scent that greeted both him and Derek as the older Hale entered, closing the door behind him with one hand as he held a take out bag in the other. "Well, that's more like it." Peter says as he reaches over and ruffles Stile's fur. "I brought food for you too," 

Stiles whines, bouncing on his front paws and leaning his narrow shoulders forward in an attempt to stick his nose into the bag, but Peter shoulders him off, shooting an incredulous look at Derek. 

"You've seen how he eats." is what Derek offers as he finally hauls himself up out of the sofa and over to the small dining area he's designated off to one side of the huge space. He stops midway there, taking hold of Stiles by the abdomen and hauls him away from Peter, allowing for his uncle to actually make it to the dining table and place the bag down to start unloading. "Stay out, Stiles." he tells the wolf, lowering him so that his front paws are once again on the ground before letting go. The blue eyed wolf looks over his shoulder up at him, whimpering before he sinks completely to the ground. "Don't... no... I..." He sighed, exasperated, and shakes his head a bit. 

"What a good pet parent you are, Derek." Peter teased, all too eager smirk on his face as he looks over at the display, watching as the wolf that is Stiles rolls over easily onto his stomach with his tail between his legs and his front paws covering his face in a show of ultimate submission to his nephew. "And here he had always been insistent that he had gotten over that fear of you." 

"Only because he had met you." Derek tells his uncle, unable to help himself and reaching down to pet the exposed white fur and all its softness as it was offered up to him. Stiles tensed under his touch momentarily, but then as he realized that he wasn't about to be harmed, his body began to relax, so much so that his tail migrated downward and began to slap against the back of Derek's calves in another over-exaggerated wag. His tongue lolled out the side of his maw, nearly covering one of his eyes in an almost insidiously ridiculous expression that was one hundred percent Stiles. One of the large paws even came up and rested itself upon Derek's shoulder as he gave little excited grumbles. One of his paws was still held up close to his neck, but it was much more relaxed now, closer to his chest than his face, where it would be protecting his eyes and nose from attack. "There, that's better." Derek mused once the wolf had calmed a bit. 

"You're going to confuse the poor thing." Peter says as he manages to rustle up some silverware from somewhere and sit down. 

His words cause a narrowing of Derek's eyes. "He's not actually a-" he frowns, not knowing how best to finish that statement. A dog? A wolf? A pet? Any of those would no doubt insult Stiles, no matter what shape his body was taking at the moment. Not to mention, they had no way of knowing if the boy would remember any of his time as a feral wolf when he next took the form that to him would be most natural. He was not going to walk himself into a corner where that smartass was involved. Especially not with his uncle baiting him there. Not this time. So he just let it drop. 

Peter seems to know that, and ticks a finger at him as his nephew steps over the Omega to come join him at the table. "Careful there." he says. "Your sister and mine could each retain all the information that they had soaked up during their transformations." he said. 

Derek nodded, opening one of the containers of Thai food that Peter had brought. He frowned at the fork that was offered to him, instead reaching back into the paper bag for the complementary wooden chopsticks in their little red panda sleeve. His uncle might be a bit inept when it came to finger motions, but Derek had always been extremely dexterous. "Yes, well," he begins, getting a good scoop of shrimp pad thai between his chopsticks, "they were both Alphas. We have nothing to go on with Stiles." He reminds before popping the shrimp, along with a good few noodles, tail and all, into his mouth with a crunch. 

The sound makes Peter wince, even as he's digging through his own container, something that smells like it has a great deal of curry in it, before stabbing something and bringing what looks like a baby octopus up to his mouth. "This is true." 

Now, Derek doesn't have a particularly tall dining room table. Or a particularly nice one for that matter. It had just been something that he'd picked up at a garage sale at some point because it had reminded him a bit of the one that his mom had had back at the old house - but a lot smaller. After all, she had often been entertaining the entire pack, not just the immediate family, but cousins and aunts and uncles of every sort. It had been a grand thing, and tall, at least that he could remember, with matching chairs that were all of the longer legged variety. This is a beaten up excuse of a thing. Sad, but made up of the same wood that his mother's table had been. He'd bought it when Isaac had been living with him, after he'd been made a wolf and his father had been killed, but before Cora had come home, no thanks to Deucalion and his pack of alphas. Peter had been visiting a lot back then too, so the three of them had often eaten meals together. It was also, unfortunately, perfect height for omegas to come over and beg on. And Stiles, who is already used to worming his way into his father's good graces, is no slouch when it comes to begging as a canine either. He doesn't go to one of the other of them and miss out on what opportunities the other party might hold when it comes to food, oh no siree. He parks himself right at the center point of the empty side of the table, perfectly in between Peter and Derek, and places his chin upon the edge of the structure, so that his nose and eyes are angled upward at them just so. Derek has to admit that even like this, Stiles has just far too much sass to be trusted, and watches as those piercing blue eyes move from him, slowly over to Peter and back, all the while a protesting grumble begins to roll from the wolf's throat, his ears twitching like miniature radar dishes at the top of his head. 

Peter is the first to start to crack under the pressure, his lips turning upward in a quibbling smirk. 

Derek's grey-green eyes merely flick from the wolf over to Peter in an unamused sort of way. "You did say you brought him food too." 

"Of course I did." Peter says, and reaches into the bag once more, bringing out a parcel wrapped tightly in string and butcher's paper. Stiles' nose immediately begins to twitch and he starts to drift closer to the man with the bag. Derek can smell raw meat. Dead, but fresh, and watches as his uncle breaks the string that was used to bind the paper, and unwraps a whole, plucked duck. His uncle had obviously, just from the quality of the food he had brought, been to the small Thai district near his apartment downtown for this. There was a butcher there that specialized in game from his homeland. The bird's neck had been wrung, and it was plucked, but other than that, it was entirely intact, probably to order from Peter just for Stiles. "As if I would be so cruel to feed us and let the pup starve." 

"Well don't tease him." Derek grumbled, half chewing another bite of his shrimp pad thai. 

Peter watched Stiles lick his lips for a moment before tossing the bird halfway across the loft, listening as the wolf turns on his heels with a screech of nail on his hard wood floors as he vies for purchase. Uncle and Nephew both manage sympathetic winces as they hears the sickening thump of the carcass against the ground, accompanied by the crunch of the bird's hollow bones breaking within the sack of meat. About a second later there's a primal snarl as Stiles sinks his teeth in, picking the limp prey up in his mighty jaws and shaking it in a show of victory, snarls pervading over the sounds of tearing flesh. 

Derek has flashbacks of his first dozen or so full moons as he watches the wolf go to town for a while, 'killing' his duck before finding a secluded corner of the loft -which just happens to be under Derek's bed - to start crunching away on the thing hungrily. "Well… I think for just about anyone else that would be enough to kill their appetite…" he grunts as he watches Peter slurp up what looks like a long tentacle from his box of curry. 

After they finish up, he and Peter decide to sit on the couch for a while. Derek has a television, a new requisition since Stiles had started to spend more and more time in the loft with him and had often complained of how quiet it was. He had had to do a bit of redecorating to accommodate it, mounting it to the brick wall in the little lighted alcove that had once been the place where his sofa had rested. His sofa, as a consequence, now feels like it's in the middle of the room, kiddy-cornering itself in the space so that it is facing both the television on the wall and the large desk that he always had in front of the wall of windows, allowing him to read any time of day he wished. It's also, of course, in a good vantage point to see whoever might just be going up or down the spiral staircase that just so happens to be in the same section of the loft. 

And so that's where the two of them migrate after their leftovers are put away in the laughably fifties model refrigerator that Derek owns, squabbling over what to put on Netflix. Derek hadn't wanted to spring for cable, and Stiles had introduced him to the wonders of streaming television. He had never been big on it to begin with, so there had been a great deal that he had missed out on and never seen. His list, as such, is an eclectic mess of things from his childhood, things that he remembers his mother and Laura having watched and enjoyed but that he had thought were stupid at the time, and shows that he had always heard various women or other guys either talking to each other about around town or, more disconcertingly, trying to talk to him about. Peter can't help but to blanch when he sees both 'How to Get Away With Murder' and 'Grey's Anatomy' have made it onto his list, along with 'Doctor Quinn : Medicine Woman' and 'The Waltons'. He manages to let out a sigh of relief when he then goes on to find 'SPECTRE', both Boondock Saints movies and 'The Walking Dead'. They end up picking that up where Derek had last left off, with the Atlanta Five finding a farm with a doctor and his two daughters after Carl had been shot in the woods, and just generally lazing on the sofa. The moans of the walkers and the dialogue is punctuated every once in a while with a crunch from behind them as Stiles finds a particularly juicy bone still left in his duck. 

Derek has to admit that he's really not watching as the old man does his primitive operation to remove a bullet from the kid on tv. He's far more interested in watching the space under his bed. At looking over to where Stiles' little tail is hanging out like an adorable plush pull toy, though he could never be so cruel as to do that. Besides, he knows what it's like to get between a dog and a bone, and he doesn't relish getting bit by an actual set of wolf jaws. Not again. He'd made the mistake of doing so much with Laura when he'd been young and the results hadn't been pretty in the least little bit. He was pretty sure that Stiles wouldn't turn on him like his sister had, but he wasn't willing to chance it, either. 

"You sure that that's not going to-" 

"He'll be fine, Derek." 

The younger wolf just gave out a grumbling sigh, shaking his head. Despite his uncle's insistence, he continued to listen out for signs of distress; coughing, wheezing and the like from under his bed, just in case one of the duck bones happened to splinter on Stiles in a bad way. But nothing ever came. They were in the middle of their second episode, some time around one in the morning, when Stiles came trotting over to Derek, his head hung low and his tail swishing behind him languidly. He ran his cheeks and the length of his body along the man's legs and moved over to Peter, licking at his hand in gratitude for the meal. 

"You are welcome, pup." There was actually a tone of affection in the older man's voice as Peter leaned down to ruffle the thick cape of fur that ran down Stile's fluffy neck. The two of them watched as the wolf gave a rough, squeaky yawn that had his head bobbing in all directions and was soon passing around the room. 

"Perhaps we should all turn in." Peter suggests as he lowers the hand that he was using to cover his gaping mouth as he yawned. "It's been a long day for us all." 

Derek gives a nod. "You know were all of the extra blankets are." he tells Peter as he gets up, taking his rolled bedspread with him over to his mattress to redress it and leaving his uncle to turn off everything in his merry corner of the loft. 

"Good night Der-" Peter begins, but then bites off his comment to amend with a chuckle, "you two." 

Derek blinks. Having fixed his bed and turned down the covers he had moved over to his dresser to change for the night, only to find that Stiles hasn't stayed with Peter. The wolf also hasn't found his own place to lay down. No. He's on the bed. And not on the side of the end of the bed either, but right in the middle, watching him with blue eyes shining in the gloom of this part of the loft. 

"Get down." Derek grumbles. Stiles just barks. 

"I'm not kidding." His voice comes out more like a growl this time as he's pulling on his pair of sweats. The wolf watches him, tilting his head a bit, and whimpers. But when Derek narrows his eyes, the white wolf whines and jumps down, his tail between his legs. 

"Aw, Derek..." Peter teases from across the loft. The lights are off now, but the younger Hale can see him reclining on the sofa from the shine in his eyes, which already look to be half-mast. "The boy's had a hard day, he just wants to-" 

Derek frowns and ignores the man as he continues to speak, settling in for the night himself. He shifts his shoulders a bit against his pillow, trying to get himself comfortable, but then curls up on his side, only to feel a soft wall of warm fur jump up next to his face again. A soft, silken tongue works against the gruff stubble on his cheek as if in apology, and he gives off a bit of a sigh. 

"Alright, fine." he says, running his hand over the canine's back. "You can stay...." The wolf lets out a soft whimper and cuddles in closer to him, putting his nose right up against his chest. Derek ends up falling asleep thinking about what a silly beast Stiles has turned out to be. 

  
* *

Every fiber of every nerve burned as if it were the reactor of a tiny power plant bent on going nuclear. There was no water, no ice, no nothing that would be able to satisfy that burning, intense feeling, he knew that in the core of his soul already. He was sore, and his bones feeling like someone had recently plunged them into a blacksmith's forge to be super heated only to pound them out into a new shape times innumerable in the last several hours. He felt miserable before he even managed to open his eyes, wishing there was a way to mitigate his own pain, that he could leach it from himself. The supernatural world did not bend that way, he knew, which left him frustrated and far more fatigued than he had even thought possible, especially since he had only just woken up. A whimper moved from his raw and broken throat, sounding far more animal than human. If it was possible, even his vocal chords were feeling dry and ravaged. What the hell had happened last night? 

The last time Stiles had felt this bad was when he had stolen his father's old bottle of Jack Daniels and gone to the preserve with Scott and- ok, he was stopping that line of thought right now. Right now. Time to snuggle back up to his pillow and… 

As he turned from his back onto his side, however, he couldn't help but to notice that his pillow didn't squish under him like it was supposed to. The damn thing was made of goose feather down, and had been stuffed nd restuffed so many times that there was absolutely no way that it would be this hard or this flat. Something was wrong, so incredibly wrong, but his body was so wracked that it was taking all that he had to swim his way back up to the surface, to let his senses come out of the red-tinted fog they'd been floundering in for the past several minutes as he'd tried to assess his own bodily condition. Whatever his head was resting against, it was most decidedly not his pillow. It was hard, and though it was warm, it was unlike the residual warmth that the flannel fabric would hold from after a night's sleep. And, although it was hard, the texture was soft. It was unlike the gentle caress of cotton or jersey material, but a sort of silky softness that read off easily as skin. He was… sleeping with someone? 

Delicately, he let his nose start to twitch, scenting evenly, delicately at the air, hoping to catch something familiar, something telling, without him having to open his eyes. He didn't want to know what sort of trouble he'd be in if he went down that route just yet, both in terms of what was going on within his body and without. The first thing that comes to him is poultry? Like chicken, but more rich, he can't quite put his finger on it, but he can almost taste it and it's confusing. He tries not to shake his head, not wanting to wake whoever he has his head resting on until he's sure he's not in any danger. It's odd though, because that little sixth sense, that fight or flight instinct that Derek has been trying to get him to hone into for the last three weeks, it isn't telling him anything. He's not in any danger, not according to instinct anyway, he's not about to be hurt. He's somewhere safe. He just doesn’t know where. 

So he takes in another breath, deeper this time. And he can smell… 

Dirt. The woods. Evergreen trees, and classic Old Spice. 

He knows this scent, knows it all too well. 

And it scares the hell out of him that he is this close to it. He sits up with a start, his eyes opening with a snap. It's all too fast, making his stomach lurch uncomfortably and his head spin with momentary vertigo. He can feel his body start shaking, partially from cold and partially from the self-imposed stress of this entire situation. He runs a hand over his face, worrying his eyebrows and trying to convince himself that this can't possibly be real when he manages to open one of his eye, even if just a fraction. Of course, it had to actually be true, be what had happened. There, laying placidly on his back, still asleep and stretched out upon the bed to show all his glory, was Derek. He was wearing a pair of simple sweatpants, but nothing more. There is, however, a big red splotch on the skin of his ribs, right where his obliques meet up with his abs, from where Stiles' head had just been laying against him. The young wolf gives off a whimper, and bites his hand with his lip as he wonders again what the hell had happened last night. His stomach is doing flips again as anxiety rolls through him, unable to know, to piece together what had happened. Sure, he's been to the loft before, that's no big deal. Him and Derek have even cuddled up together in the same bed before, and he can handle that. Its natural, he knows that, for two members of the same pack to be close, to seek and to give comfort to one another. But for him to not remember? That is frustrating him to the verge of panic. And then it hits him. Last night was the night of the full moon. They had started the day off at his place, so why were they here, at the loft? Had he lost control? Had he… 

Oh god… his dad. His dad. Suddenly he can't stop himself from seeing blood on his hands, and he takes off running across the flat, unable to control the twisting and turning of his stomach anymore. He just barely makes it to the bathroom when the bile makes it past his gagging reflex and up and out of him. He's shaking against the cold of the floor when he feels something warm come up behind him, a gentle hand planting itself at the nape of his neck and rubbing down between his shoulder blades along his spine and back up. The smell is unmistakable, but tinged with worry. He dry heaves a few more times into the bowl of the toilet that he had luckily managed to make it to before he slumps against it, laying one arm over the seat and his head over that, looking back into the grey-green eyes staring back at him. 

"Tell me… tell me I didn't hurt my dad." he whimpers out. 

"You didn't hurt your dad." Derek tells him. "Scared the shit out of him, bit my hand, but other than that, no one got hurt." 

His voice is so earnest, and his heartbeat so even that Stiles finds that he believes him easily, just giving a half-hearted nod. 

"You did, however, make me break in the door to your bathroom and smashed the storm door to the back porch." Derek informs him. "And, you killed that mountain lion." 

Stiles sits there a while, just watching him, and tries to relax. He finds it easy as he watches Derek shift to sit in a different position seeing as how the boy isn't moving any time soon. And then there's that big, soothing hand running over his back. He finds that he's still so tired, and wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed. "Ouch…" he grumbles at the mention of property damage. Now that Derek mentions it though, and he's beginning to calm down, he can admit that bits and pieces are starting to come back to him. Seeing his eyes in the mirror, hearing the door slam shut when he was with Derek in the bathroom at home and lashing out, watching his fingers crack and crunch and begin to turn into paws. No wonder he had been so damned sore. 

"I told your dad I would pay for it, don't worry." Derek assured, and Stiles nodded, looking over his shoulder where he remembered getting a bite from one of the cats. However, there is nothing there. Not even the barest form of a scar. He can't help but to smirk at that and shake his head before he realizes just how cold he is again and his eyes rove over his body, a blush working over its entirety as he realizes - 

"Why am I naked?" 

Derek's eyes haven't moved from Stiles' face, but he gives a sigh. "You… erm… changed after you got out of the shower." he said, in a way that sounded like he hoped it would calm Stiles to know that. 

It does not. "You mean I streaked around town?" he yelps, voice reaching almost unnatural pitch for human vocal chords. 

Derek has winced at the near supersonic tone, but then shakes his head. The entire time he hasn't stopped rubbing up and down Stiles' back. "No, not like that." he said. "There was something about your shift. It was umn… it was different." 

"How?" Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes at them. 

"As in you took on the form of a wolf and decided to lead us on a wild goose chase through the preserve last night." This voice, from the door, is Peter, being so obviously Peter that Stiles can't help but to smile over at him as much as he can, which at the moment, isn't much. There isn't much room in the bathroom, since even though the apartment is huge, there is really only room for the old-stile tub and shower, the pedestal sink, and the toilet that Stiles is still currently leaning on. There's hardly enough room for Derek to hunker down on the floor with him, so Peter is stuck leaning against the doorway. 

"Oh… I… What?" 

"It's a very rare trait." Peter offers, and then turns. Stiles can hear him filling up a cup in the kitchen with water from the tap, and he's grateful, because the bile taste in his mouth is gross, but he still feels too weak to actually get up. Instead he manages to crawl into Derek's lap and curl up, which the man obliges, bringing his arms in around him to keep him in warm. "Here," Peter murmurs a few moments later, and he doesn't have just a glass of water for him, but some clothes as well. He can tell from the scent hanging off of them that they are his own, though they've been left here for quite a long while, and so the overwhelming scent is of the detergent that Derek uses, and the ambient smells of the loft. 

"Thanks Peter." Stiles murmurs, snuggling a bit into Derek's shoulder. He doesn't want the other wolf to leave, to move away from him, but they all know that he'd be more comfortable if he were dressed. He feels Derek lean down and nuzzle his nose into the crook of his neck, along his shoulder, imparting scent and strength there. 

"We can talk more after you get dressed, ok?" he says, and though his voice comes out as more of a question than an actual statement, as if asking Stiles if he'll be alright without him for a moment or two, he slides out from under the teen and moves out into the rest of the apartment. The two allow him to have a few moments to himself, to let him get his thoughts in order, to take a bit of a shower. He knows, can remember taking one the day before, but he stinks. Running around in the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods, definitely left dirt upon him. After that, he pulls on the borrowed clothes, which fit better than he would have imagined. It's not as if Peter has ever been that much taller or more well muscled than he was, even as a human, but he hadn't realized that he'd gained muscle this fast. He gives himself another look in the mirror then, like he had the night before, and watches that eerie blue boil from under the gemstone brown of his eyes. This time, however, it doesn't frighten him, doesn't cause that gut wrenching pain. There is guilt, there will probably always be guilt, but not like weeks before, not like last night. He looks to the clothes he's wearing, then over to the door that leads out to where the Hales are waiting for him. He can smell bacon and eggs, sausage even, and hear the two of them grumbling about something, though the words aren't clear even to his canine hearing. He turns back, and looks up at his reflection again, able to see a fond smile upon his face. His eyes are still blue, and he blinks the supernatural hue away peacefully. Blue isn't something to be ashamed of. Derek had tried to tell him that before, and he should have listened. He hadn't hurt anyone last night. He hadn't killed anyone. He had been in control, he had steered clear of people, had been safe. Had been around his father, and around Deaton. He's fine, he's alright, and so are they. He can feel it, just as much as he can feel his own toes. Its not something that he can exactly explain… but he knows. 

And besides, Derek and Peter. They're here. 

They have blue eyes. 

Both of them. 

His little blue-eyed pack. 

He makes his way out of the bathroom then, poking his wet mop of hair out first and scoping around, scenting as much as looking to see where the two are. He can see Derek serving out that yummy smelling breakfast in the kitchenette. Peter is over by Derek's bed, pulling out tiny little bits of what look like bone from underneath it. Stiles decides right then and there that he does not what to know the details of later on in the night, and crosses the room over to where Derek is standing, a soft look on his eyes. "When I heard the water running, I was afraid we were going to have a repeat of last night. But then again, I don't think you'd be stupid enough to jump out that window." he says, indicating the wall of them behind his desk on the other side of the loft. It's bright, and Stiles wonders for the first time that morning what time it actually is. 

"No. I'm not as freaked out as last night." the teen mumbles, moving closer and resting his head on Derek's still-bare shoulder. He rubs his cheek along the muscle, taking in how smooth his skin was, just like he had that morning. Here, however, there was a bit of give from the muscle to his shoulder. It was soft and pliant against his forehead, and his insistent cuddling caused Derek to chuckle as he handed him a plate. "Go sit down." he murmured, taking up his own after covering a plate for Peter so it would stay warm. The two of them migrated to the table, where there was already iced tea waiting for them. Stiles took a sip of his own, and looked over to Derek, who had turned to watch his Uncle's progress. Peter had all but disappeared and was nothing but a pair of feat sticking out from under the bed now. 

"Do I want to know what he's doing?" Stiles asked. 

"He fed you a duck last night. You decided to eat it under my bed. Because he brought it, he gets to clean up what little bit of scraps you may have left." Derek tells him, comping down on a piece of toast slathered in extremely fresh smelling butter with a satisfied crunch and a smug grin that could go down in history books. 

"I... ate a duck?" Well, he guesses that would explain the poultry taste in his mouth earlier. 

"You very happily ate a duck." Derek amends, watching as Stiles takes a big bite of scrambled eggs. To his delight they're loaded - peppers, onions, cheese, spinach, the whole nine yards, and the teen finds himself melting into his mismatched kitchen chair. 

"Oh... ok." he muses, moaning past the mouthful he's got. He takes his time to chew, almost cuddling into his chair as he does it, and then he remembers what he saw in the shower. The little inspection that he'd done when he'd been in there. "Uhmn, so... Derek?" he asks after a minute, getting the older wolf's attention. "Where did the triskele on my thigh come from? Werewolves can't get marked except through fire, right..." 

"We aren't quite sure." Is Derek's response, and he holds up a hand when it looks like Stiles is about to protest. "There is a lot that we aren't sure of when it comes to you right now, Stiles. The ability to turn full wolf is a rare, ancient trait that only Alphas are supposed to be able to hold. Even Deaton hadn't heard of an Omega being able to turn like that, and especially not a turned Omega." he adds. "When it comes to the mark... we found it on you when we brought you to him to make sure you hadn't been hurt running around on all fours. Just before we brought you to him, we had found you sleeping... just sleeping soundly, at the Nematon." 

Stiles blinks then, his brows furrowing as he inspects his eggs then, as if they're the most interesting thing in the world. He remembered. Remembered walking deep out into the woods, running down the cat that had nearly taken his life last month, ripped apart her and her cub in some sense of revenge that had been nothing but flying fur and fangs. But then, when it had been done, sitting there in the dark of the night, he had felt the call, the pull. It had been like a pulsating drum beat, a throbbing that moved with the point of a compass. It was an aching need. He had padded his way along old game trails, against them, and to the old spot where the scent of the supernatural was still so strong. He could smell the Durach here, her sacrifices. He could smell the Nogitsune here too, and the Oni, and his hackles rose, along with his lips in a heavy snarl. 

But then, something had happened, something otherworldly, even for the werewolf. To his glowing blue eyes the tree appeared to him as it must have once stood. Stately and huge. It's limbs were large and all encompassing far past his head. It felt like a sanctuary, a safe, sacred space. On the trunk itself he could see the carving of the five fold knot, and though he knew it's connotations in the sacrifices, he couldn't help but to feel at peace as he took a step closer to the tree, half spectral, half tangible. 

That was when she appeared. A large black wolf, save for the fine hairs around her muzzle, which had begun to whiten from either age or stress. Whisps of deep etherium wafted from her shoulders, cape and ears as she regarded Stiles easily from one of the pulled up roots of the Nematon. Her eyes, glowing red, were gentle as they watched him. Seeing the red eyes, however, the young wolf had stopped, and lowered his head in submission. He didn't know who this wolf was, couldn't get a scent on her, but red eyes... meant alpha. Alpha's meant power. 

Alphas meant danger. 

His tail moved between his legs, upward between his thighs, and he whined helplessly as he watched her begin to shimmy down the root and gracefully amble over to him. As she did, a remarkable change came over her. The wolf became a woman, her face somewhat familiar, with a straight, thin nose and a squared jaw. She was beautiful, but deadly looking in her appearance. Her hair was the color of raven feathers, her eyes becoming a deep brown as they faded from alpha red and she reached out a hand to the white wolf before her. 

"Omega dear...." Her voice was soft, calming, and Stiles couldn't help but to feel as if... as if he had found something that he had been missing for a long time. This woman, first and foremost, reminded him of his mother, and he missed Claudia so dearly. He whined again, taking a step closer to her. Her ethereal hand glazed upon his muzzle, and he felt himself calm even more. "So you are the one who has been watching over my son so closely. I owe you a great deal, little one." She cooed, allowing the white wolf to come to her, to cuddle into her as he would have to Derek, resting his head along her thigh and plunking his body down beside her in an unrefined pose. 

He was submissive, allowing her to stroke and scratch his chest and stomach. "I can see now why he is so enamored with you. The boy that resisted being a wolf for so long... and the wolf who realized that power was not all it was cracked up to be." She smiled, and Stiles could feel every fear leaching away from him then. "The two of you are perfect. I am sad I will not be there to watch him rebuild the pack, but I know you will be able to guide him in the right direction. They always did say that the third time is the charm." 

The wolf grumbled against her, his eyes closing softly as the image began to fade away. The tree first, an then slowly the woman. He felt her hand slide over his body, pat the outside of his hip - the opposing side of the leg where his triskele now marked - and she leaned down to kiss his brow before falling away completely. "Rest well, dear Mścisław" 

As he sat there, finally taking a bite of his own sausage, eggs upon the fork as well, Stiles looked over at Derek. "What was your mother like?" he asked after a long moment. 

The question seems to hit Derek off guard, and he just stills, giving a bit of a frown and putting his fork down. Across the room, Peter's head could be heard slamming into the bottom of the foundation of Derek's bed. 

"Sore subject... right... I'm sorry." 

Before he can even attempt to get up, the younger Hale reaches over and takes a hold of his arm, pulling him back into his seat. He looks up at Stiles, his eyes looking strange. Not exactly normal, but not shining blue either. It's like there's a little bit of a war going on in them, one that has no clear sides, fighters or winners. It was odd. Stiles was so used to seeing his eyes flare with his emotions that seeing nothing while smelling the conflict put him on edge. 

"It's ok." Derek assured. "Wasn't expecting it though." he said, his voice soft. "No one ever... asks about her. People rarely ever mention her." he adds. "What brought it on?" 

Stiles nods, understanding what the man had meant. If someone mentioned his mother now, especially so long after she had ever been mentioned, he would have been surprised too. More than surprised, unnerved, perturbed even. But... for Derek's eyes to have not... 

He swallows, looks down at his eggs again, and prepares for the inevitable blow up that this next statement will cause. 

"I think she's the one that gave me the mark." he manages after a minute. "I think that she wants the Hale Pack back together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Misfits" by Shinedown
> 
> Mścisław (Russian pronunciation mstee-SLAHF) is the Polish version of a Czech, Russian and Slavic name meaning "vengeance and glory" which in this AU is perfect for a first name for Stiles, don't you think?


	8. The Blood I Lost With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets theoretical, and... is that a Coach Finstock and a Danny siting?

Derek was just staring at him. His eyes wide, jaw slumped as he stared up at Stiles. The teen was used to long silences from the older man, hell everyone knew that Derek wasn't much of a social butterfly and didn't speak much at all, but the length of this was getting to be downright uncomfortable. The intensity of his gaze, and the emotion expressed within them. There was pain there, real anguish in those deep hazel eyes, written all over those chiseled features. It wasn't just witnessed by the eyes, but was able to be smelt as much as seen. Derek didn't say anything, didn't even make an attempt. To be honest it didn't really look as if he knew how to even get his thoughts in order, and that was deeply frustrating for him. It had to be. The teen had always known the man before him to be one of action, not of introspection, mostly because if he let himself get lost in the maze of thoughts he would come out howling in guilt and anger. It wasn't something that Stiles wanted to see any time soon. Derek had come a long way in his emotional recovery since they had first met, and a backslide wasn't something that Stiles wanted to be the cause of, despite all of the prodding and poking he had done to Derek when they had first begun to get to know each other.

"Say something, please…" Stiles murmured voice small to the point of insignificance. If he wasn't in the company of werewolves, he would question if Derek had even heard him. As he was waiting for a reply, his tongue darted out to whet at his lips, which he could feel becoming dry and cracked under the ministrations. The silence felt suffocating after the wake of the bombshell he had dropped. The fact that no one was saying anything, no one was moving... it made his skin crawl, his soul itch. It made him want to run, to run until his energy was depleted and he was as far away as he could get. To somewhere with noise and lights and the sounds of life. Somewhere- 

And then it came. A growl that was far from gentle. A stalking, predatory noise came to Stiles' enhanced canine hearing. But it wasn't the younger Hale that made the noise. It didn't come from in front of him at all. And what was more, the growl formed itself into dialogue. No, the words came from across the room. Peter was stalking toward them, his bare feet sounding impossibly loud in the quiet, holding a Macy's bag from which he could hear the minute clinking of tiny bones above the crinkling of the plastic. For a moment the sounds confused Stiles, until he remembered. Right, the duck. The bones that Derek was making him pick up. "Talia is dead." He growled, his tone choked and rigid. He was pissed. Beyond pissed. 

Stiles swallowed, beginning to look around for escape routes as he watched Peter stalk forward. He didn't know what else to do as he watched the older, more experienced wolf. If Peter was really this angry, his only option really was to run, but even then, the older wolf was probably still faster than he was. "I-I know." he stammered, voice shaking and small, realizing all too late how foolish it had been to tell them what he had seen. It was, of course, too painful a thing for them to have to face. Not only was Talia Derek's mother, but he was also Peter's older sister, and although the two of them had had some differences and difficulties, they had been close. Very close. All of them. "But I still-" he tried to murmur out, only to get a growl in response from Peter, who was standing perhaps only three feet from him now. Stiles' immediate reaction upon hearing the threatening noise was to curl up in his chair, to make himself as small and as nonthreatening as possible. He fought that instinct, however, and he moved instead over into Derek's lap for the protection that he would provide. He could feel the tension in the other man, feel it come to a boil as he nuzzled in close, trying to gain a bit of comfort from him, pressing his nose into the crook of Derek's neck. What was it that Talia had said? Something about them.. The two of them… He gave a whine of frustration when he came up short in recalling it when he went over it in his mind again. He'd been so sleepy when she'd been talking to him. Her voice had been so soothing, so soft and comforting in a time when he'd needed it. Just like her son's. Oh what was it that she had said...? 

"I'm sorry." he managed, hoping that it would make a difference. His voice was a low whimper, trying to placate the harshness in Peter's voice and the coldness in Derek's actions. He hadn't meant anything by it. By any of it. 

Derek, meanwhile, had allowed him to sit there in his lap. Unlike earlier when they were in the bathroom, and like so many other times before, his arms did not reach up, did not come to surround him and to bring him in closer. His chin didn't come down, his nose didn’t bury itself into his shoulder, take in his scent, nor did it spread Derek's over his own. He didn't scent him, didn't attempt to comfort or coddle, and the loss of sensation made him feel lost, empty. Made a whimper pass from Stiles' throat involuntarily from the ache of it all. That little bit of a noise caused Derek's eyes to come up, gaze shifting almost icily over to where Peter was still standing. The oldest of the three wolves was struggling, that much both of them could see, his hands clenched into hard fists at the side of his body. Even from at Derek's shoulder, Stiles could smell the blood that was pooling between his fingers, building up and then dripping to the floor. It took a moment to ascertain the source, but then, the youngest of the three wolves caught sight of the black talon that had grown from Peter's thumb as he looked over his shoulder, and realized that the man was fighting for control just then. But why? He understood it was bad, but was it really all that bad? It wasn't as if Stiles had asked to see Talia. 

But then he realized… that that must have been why. He wasn't even family. He wasn't one of them, not really. He was pack, as much as they could bring themselves to call their little three man cell a pack, but he wasn't blood. Wasn't family. Wasn't a Hale. 

And really, what did that make him, in the end? 

"I'm sorry." he repeated in a resigned murmur, casting his eyes downward as much out of embarrassment of how squeaky his voice sounded as well from the realization that he had just come to. How stupid could he have been, thinking that they were all so close, just because Derek had taken him in to teach him a few things. He was just acting on orders from Scott, after all. He couldn't possibly let himself forget that. Not now, and not ever. Slowly he started to slide from Derek's lap again, thinking that he had little to no claim over the space that he was taking there. Derek hadn't invited him, and didn't seem to want him at this moment, so why drag out the awkwardness any more than he already had? The jig as they said, was up. He hadn't only opened a still healing wound with the two males here, but he'd made himself a burden last night, just as he always seemed to. If there was one thing that Stiles knew not to do, it was overstay his welcome. Besides, he had all that homework to do. He could walk it, it wasn't that far. Sure his feet would hurt without his sneakers but- 

Everything stopped when he felt a steel grip upon his wrist. Thoughts, body motions, everything. He had barely moved his weight off of Derek, had just started to lift himself, was just opening his mouth to say that he'd just get going, leave them alone, get out of their hair when he'd felt it. It was warm, and hard, vice-like, but not biting like it could have been. And it so easily could have. Because he knows Derek's grip at this point, the feel of his fingers against his skin, well enough to not have to look to know that the former Alpha is delicately holding his bony wrist in those strong as steel digits. And he's seen what Derek can do when he's not holding something delicately. He's seen him throw people through walls, break trees, bend steel. Bone in comparison to that is nothing, and so he stays stock still when he feels those fingers braced against him, knowing who it is. He does manage to turn away from watching Peter with a hard swallow though, unsure about whether or not he should be turning his back on a man so obviously unhinged at the moment, especially if the cause was the huge bomb that Stiles had just dropped upon them himself, to train his eyes upon Derek's face. He's lifted his chin, looking like the proud heir to a long line of ancient guardians that Stiles knows that he is now, and his eyes are aimed upon his uncle. They are clear, a warning deep in the murky hues of green-grey as they fix upon Peter, his eyebrows becoming serious in their slope as they start to hitch downward toward his nose. A warning rumble moves through him, so low that Stiles can feel it through his connection to Derek more than he can hear it. 

"Enough, Uncle." His voice was even feral, and Stiles could almost swear that he saw something in his eyes then. Something that he hadn't seen since Isaac's first full moon over a year ago. Back when Derek had had to save his skinny ass from getting mauled by his betas in the lock up of the Sheriff's department. But it was just a flash, hardly anything to write home about, and Stiles was hardly sure that he had even actually seen it. The teen was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of either the voice or the glare at the moment, because it definitely seemed as if Derek meant business. He never referred to Peter as 'uncle'. Not to his face, anyway. "Stiles…" he gave a heavy sigh, one that shook his broad shoulders, and Stiles swallowed again, wondering if he was going to be evicted from the lap after all. "Did not do anything to deserve either of our anger. If he saw mother, than there was a reason that she made herself known to him and not to us. There are only so many tricks an Alpha can employ from beyond the grave, we both know that." 

Peter gave a nod from where he stood, seeming to be remembering something where he stood. He looked down at one of his hands, seemed to study the bloodied claws upon them, and gave a frown. He moved over to where the two of them were then, Stiles still semi-standing over Derek's seated form, and gently ran his cheek along the back of Stiles' head, rubbing his personal scent, as well as the solid scent of pack over on top of his own. "My apologies." he murmured, voice soft. When he moved away, the teen had the feeling that it was a sincere gesture, and watched over his shoulder as Peter moved to toss out his bag of duck bones before drifting over to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. 

"No... I'm sorry..." Stiles couldn't think of anything else to say, his voice beginning to feel like a record with a skipping needle. His voice was impossibly low once more, little more than a choked off whisper, though he knew that both of the werewolves could still hear him. Even if he didn't respond, he knew that Peter had heard him. He knew because Derek had heard him. Because Derek, in one swift and yet gentle motion, pulled him back down into his lap. Had finally lowered his head, settling it along his shoulder. 

"Why are you so sorry?" Derek asked him, his voice soft and a bit muffled now that he's made himself comfortable there and was actively rubbing his scent all over Stiles. It was like he was trying to hide the scent of fear and confusion that has swept over him ever since he told his pack mates that he had been witness to Talia at the Nematon. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Stiles. Especially not the amount of times you've said it." 

"You were both upset..." The teen murmurs, slowly starting to unfold himself from the apprehensive little ball he'd managed to make of himself as soon as he'd been pulled back into the sanctuary that he had deemed Derek's lap to be, draping his arms over the other man's shoulders. He feels the stubble along Derek's jaw track over his neck, and then his cheek, and can't help the little smile that starts to form upon his thin lips at the incessant scratching. Derek is checking up on Peter, he knows, watching as his uncle takes his plate of food, but instead of joining them at the table, he chooses to sit at the kitchen counter instead, looking like he's still trying to make heads or tails out of what little information they have so far. 

"It isn't something that you would hear every day." Derek admits. Even being born a werewolf, he has never heard of anything like this, but he's starting to find that even his knowledge of the supernatural is limited at best. Having been cut off from the wellspring of information that was his family so young had definitely been more of a hindrance than he had initially imagined. He looked down at his own plate mournfully then over Stiles' shoulder. He had only eaten about half of the breakfast he'd made, Stiles had managed even less, but he knows that the boy's lost his appetite. At least for the foreseeable future. Normally at this point, he'd be on his way downstairs to train, but having Stiles around has put a bit of a damper in his Saturday morning routine, and the revelation of the morning even more so. Besides, the teen has homework to do, and should be doing it. 

Quietly, with little more than an 'eep' of protest from Stiles, the large wolf stands, one arm moving down to support the teen's hips as he had the day before the full moon, and walks over to the sofa, depositing the both of them down upon it. He watches as Stiles eyes his backpack for a long while, almost as if it has teeth of its own, before he slides from Derek's lap with a glum sigh and resigns himself to pulling it over and pulling a physics book out of it's main pouch. He at least seems content enough to stay in the loft and do the work, unlike a moment before when he had definitely seen signs of wanting to run. The anxiety of the morning had probably worked it's way through him and tuckered him out a bit more than either of them had thought and though his nerves would probably be humming for a while yet, the edge was at least off enough to allow him to sit and relax. For his part, Derek just sits back to watch, slumping himself down in a somewhat unrefined position on the sofa so he can lean his head back against the cushion and still see what Stiles is doing. His legs stretch a bit out in front of him before bending at the knee. He had thought about putting his feet upon the table, but that would be a bit gross and probably more than a little bit distracting for Stiles while he was trying to do all that homework. 

He can admire Stiles' determination not to miss his schoolwork despite all that's happened to him in the last few months, and wishes that he had had the fortitude for that when he'd been the boy's age. 

When the fire had happened, Laura had been in her second semester of college, a few years ahead of Derek. He'd been about halfway through his sophomore year at the time, if not a bit more. With his entire family gone, and no where to stay in town, there hadn't really been much drive for him to go to back at the time. Sure, Peter had still been alive, but he'd been comatose at the time. When Laura had made the drive back after she'd been called by the authorities, she hadn't even been able to positively identify their uncle, it had been so bad. Neither could Derek, despite having arrived home from school in time to watch them pull him out of the still smoking wreckage of what had once been their family home. He hadn't even smelled the same back then; more like overcooked meat and smoke and despair and pain than Peter. It had taken her a long time to convince him to at least get his GED so he didn't look like a complete failure. And that was the term that she'd used. It had been harsh, but that had been Laura. She had been the strong one, the Alpha. She knew when to be hard, when to push when someone needed it. 

But they had always been friendly pushes. Not like the shoves that Stiles had been given by Scott and Isaac. 

Gently, he reached over, and moved his hand along the young man's spine, attempting to sooth down any residual jitters from earlier. He knew that Stiles had been pretty certain that he had been understandably distressed, hell, even irate with what had been said earlier, and he hoped that the boy knew that there was no such animosity between the two of them. He'd just been shocked, and that was the bottom line. He didn't know how to communicate that more clearly, and hoped that Stiles knew. He felt the boy flinch slightly under his hand, but then relax as he realized what was going on, a long draw of breath leaving his lungs in a heavy sigh. Derek gave a smile as he watched the boy glance back at him and shoot his own little grin, the mischievous one that shot wrinkles up into his eyes and made him look altogether too impish for his own good. 

At some point, Peter comes to join them. Derek allows this due to the fact that his uncle smells much calmer now, having filled his stomach with his own breakfast - and presumably the leftovers from his and Stiles' meals as well. He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, nursing a cup of tea that he made for himself at while he was over in the kitchen. It smells like English Breakfast or Earl Grey, one of the more calming, mellower teas that Derek keeps around for the occasions when his uncle is around. They sit like that for a while, with the sounds of Stiles' pen moving over the paper and Peter slurping his beverage as company before the teen finally closes his last book and leans back against the couch. He doesn't stop there though, giving a tired grumble and rubbing his eyes slightly. For a moment he looks like he's going to flop over and enter nap mode, but he instead sits back up a bit to rummage through his bag for something. The two older wolves watch him pop a few Adderall from the last orange bottle that he carries around with him before he does finally flop over, right into Derek's solar plexus. The sudden explosion of extra weight on top of him without warning making the larger wolf grunt a bit in pain and surprise. There's a fond smile on his face though as he reaches up to put an arm around Stiles' shoulders, bringing him in close as Peter quirks a brow at the two young males. The two of them were suddenly, ever since Stiles had been turned, so touchy, so close... He wondered if they realized what it was that they were doing. Probably not. 

"Two days worth of homework makes my brain itch." Stiles complains against Derek's chest, though at this point it has a t-shirt over it, covering the skin that was under the freckled cheek of the teenager as he nuzzled it. The former alpha had had a chance to pull one on while Stiles had been in the shower earlier. 

"Still jittery even after the full moon?" Derek asked in a soothing voice, running his hand up and down Stiles' arm as the boy slowly began to relax as his medication took effect, watching as he nodded. They had had a running theory that the ADHD might have been something that his lycanthropy was burning through slowly, that it had had to learn how to deal with the misfires in his brain. They had hoped that once the full moon had hit that it would have figured out how to do so and that he'd be just another normal seventeen year old. Obviously that wasn't the case if he had had to take more of his Adderall after the fact. He wished that there was something that he could do, but he knew that Stiles had dealt with this for, most of his life and therefor knew how to cope. Who knew, perhaps the lycanthropy hadn't taken away the hyperactivity because the wolf didn't see anything wrong with it. It was just a part of Stiles, as natural as the color of his eyes, both his amber brown and his blue, or the way that he moved. 

"It's weird." Stiles said with a sigh. "What's.. what's wrong with me?" he asked Derek as he turned, rolling through over his back to his right side, bringing his entire body up onto the couch and balling it up next to Derek, looking up at the man as Derek moved to sit up a bit more. As he did, Stiles' head slunk into his lap, but the older wolf kept a soothing hand moving over his shoulder, down his arm. Stiles back was now facing the apartment now, his face the back end of the couch and Derek's stomach as the teen looked up at him. There was no real concern or emotion in his voice, unlike earlier. He seemed simply curious, as opposed to bothered. Like Derek had thought, he was coping. 

"Why would you think that something was wrong?" Peter asked from where he sat at the other side of the sofa, eyebrows lurching upward over his mug of tea to watch the younger men. Derek looked like he was struggling to find words at the moment that would help his little... how could he even classify Stiles when it came to terms of Derek? Pack made definitely worked, but it didn't seem as if it were strong enough considering their physical closeness. Friends definitely didn't cut it. It just confused him. And Peter Hale did not like being confused 

"I'm still..." Stiles sighed, his breath coming out like a huff. He didn't have to say the words for either of them to know that he was referring to the pills he'd just had to take. "And then, seeing her..." He approached the second subject more cautiously this time, not wanting to hurt either of his pack mates, drive them away like he had started to earlier. He didn't want to be alone, not again. Not like what Scott wanted. He needed Peter and Derek, like his lungs needed oxygen. 

"There is nothing wrong with you, Stiles." Peter told the turned wolf with a roll of his eyes when it appeared that his nephew was still taking his time trying to think of a way in which to throw his opinion into the mix. "Nothing at all. You are a wolf, and that means that there is less wrong with you than with most people. If anyone tries to make you believe otherwise, they have us to answer to." He added, his eyes glowing slightly. "And I believe that is what Talia was trying to tell you, or at least, that is what I am taking from it. You're with us now. We are a pack." 

He watches as Stiles slowly moves his head so that he's looking at him from over the plane of wrinkles that was Derek's shirt resting on his abdomen. Once the teen's honey eyes met his own, he smiled. It was a wicked, protective smile, showing the tips of fangs from just under his lips when he spoke, "You are a Hale, Stiles." 

The boy's face flushed pink, going up to the tips of his ears, and he snuggled himself back into the protection of Derek's arms. "He's right, you know." the younger Hale finally managed in a soft voice, one that reminded Peter so very much of his sister. If it wasn't for the beard, and the musculature, and the overwhelming maleness there were times when he could swear that Talia was sitting right here with him. "There's nothing wrong with you at all, Stiles. You're perfectly sound. You've even put on weight, muscle..." He leaned down a bit, and Peter rose a brow as he watched his nephew bump his nose against Stiles' temple. He rubbed it there a bit, soft and delicate, leaving his scent over Stiles' own, layering the scent of pack over him all the more. Obviously the gesture was an attempt to improve the boy's mood. "And you are a Hale." 

Stiles lifts his head a bit at that, turning to look up at him, blinking at seeing him so close. "Really?" he asks, sounding a bit out of breath, almost as if the air had been taken out of him by their confessions. Both wolves had to remind themselves that Stiles hadn't ever truly belonged to anything before in his life. Yes there had been the McCall pack in the beginning, especially when Scott had first been finding his feet, but obviously that had meant very little. To have assurances that he belonged right here, right now, in this place and time... it probably meant the world to him. 

Derek nods at him. "Why don't you tell me more about what she said to you?" he asked then, tilting his head to the side a bit to regard the teenager. "I promise, I'm not angry." 

Stiles nodded, and laid there quietly for a minute. "I'll try. It's kind of hard now." he said, working himself back up into a sitting position. It looked incredibly awkward for a moment due to the fact that his back was still to the majority room, up until the moment he decided to shift so that he was instead up against the arm of the sofa closest to him. He looked up to Peter and then to Derek, as if making sure that the two of them were paying attention before going on to explain, "It came to me like a dream earlier, and it's just sort of washing away now. The more I try to remember, the more I forget. It's weird." 

Derek reaches over and claps a hand over the teen's shoulder, "Its ok, just tell me-"his gaze flicks to Peter and he amends his statement quickly "-us what you can." 

Stiles gave another little nod, and started from the beginning. About how he had been wondering blindly through the preserve after killing the pumas, and then he'd suddenly felt the need to move, to follow some unspoken order. Some unheard howl, a pull on his very soul. It was something that had just needed to be done. So he had gone, walking deeper and deeper into the dark of the forest, and then it had just been there, right there, looming before him like some sanctuary in the unknown. Massive and shining hollowly in the dim lights of the moon and the stars. How the wolf had been there, great and majestic with red eyes staring down upon him. How she'd approached, and how she'd changed even with the signals of fear that he'd given off to her, and how she'd calmed him with gentle words and gestures. 

"She said that she was sorry that she wouldn't be there to watch you rebuild the pack, Derek." Stiles said after a few long minutes, voice a reverent hush. That much he really did remember clearly. The words that she had spoken about her son, all the love in the world communicated in them. "She sounded like she was really proud of you." he looked down, playing with his fingernails, worrying the hem of his shirt with them and for a moment unable to meet the other man's eyes. "Like, really proud, you know? Were... were you guys close?" 

He looked up from under his eyelashes, and could see Derek nodding a bit at him. At one point while he had been explaining all of this the man had pulled himself up to sit straighter, but had then leaned forward to listen to Stiles more intently. The teen figured that it had probably been when he had been describing the wolf and how she had looked when she had changed. He had heard from Deaton that there were ways to communicate with werewolves that had passed on, but usually you had to have said wolf's claws. He'd seen Derek with a box emblazoned with a carved triskele since he'd come back from getting Cora settled in South America last year, and wondered... Had he been able to see his mother since she'd died? 

In his new position, Derek's elbows were resting on his knees, and his forehead rested on his nest of intertwined fingers. His eyes were downcast and half masted, but Stiles could see the emotion in them, the spark of light that had been rousted by his wolf. Again, there was something different about the blue hue that Stiles couldn't quite put his finger on. Perhaps it was the angle that he had, but they almost looked violet to him, hints of red peeking around the edges. When he blinked his eyes however and looked again, it seemed to be gone, so he decided not to worry about it as he watched the larger man, tilting his head a bit and leaning forward. His hand started to lurch forward, wanting desperately to reach out and dance against Derek's shoulder and offer him at least some minuscule form of comfort, but it stopped halfway as he thought better of it. Derek turned and watched him after another moment, his eyes soft, sad, and yet, somehow impossibly happy. 

"Thank you," he murmured, a crooked smile starting to appear on his face. It was small, barely perceptible, but there. The scent of relief rolled off of him like an ocean breeze, and Stiles witnessed some of the permanent tension that Derek carried around in his shoulders ebb away at long last as the news broke over him like a cresting wave. It seemed that not being able to know how his mother had felt about the man that he had become had eaten away at him in ways that no one else could have ever imagined. 

But Stiles could. He could because he knew exactly how it felt to know he would never be able to hear someone's opinion again. To feel the loving touch of a mother's hand as she read a bedtime story or kissed away the sting of an injury. As she told you she loved you or she was proud of you. When she put your hard won 'A' up on the fridge for everyone to see when they walked through the kitchen. Unfortunately there would be no one who would be able to do this secondary sort of assurance for him, like he had been able to do for Derek. His mother hadn't been supernatural at all, had no connection to this world after she had gotten sick and passed. There was no way to communicate with her now. He was sure that Derek had probably thought that at one point in time too, but at least his mother had been a werewolf, an Alpha, and a powerful one no less. It made Stiles feel... lonesome. He could only nod in response to the male's sentiment. 

The next thing he knew, there were large arms around him, pulling him in close. Derek... He couldn't help but to bring his own arms up and around the larger wolf, burying his nose in the man's shoulder. He knew immediately that his scent had betrayed him. He wasn't nearly as good at controlling his emotions and their chemosignals as the older wolf was. So he just gave in to the comfort that was given, knowing better than to fight and protest, or to lie and say he was fine. 

"She would have been proud of you too, you know." he said. 

And somehow, even though Derek had never known his mother, and there was no way he ever could have, the statement made Stiles feel a little better. 

  
* *

Monday goes by like any other day, and it's odd considering the events of the weekend, especially as he went back over them in his mind. Friday night he had run through the town and the woods on four legs, covered in white fur. It had been, without a doubt the most peaceful emergence of a turned wolf since Talia Hale had been the local alpha. There were no attacks on small pets, no missing kids, no dead bodies reported. Sure, his dad was pretty pissed about the damages to the house, but he'd get over it, especially since Derek was going over today to do the repairs himself. Stiles had given him the spare house key off of his back up keys for the Jeep yesterday (it was actually his mom's old set) after a short stop off at his house to get some of his own clothes and drop off his homework. 

He'd ended up spending the entire weekend with Derek, getting some training in to improve his speed and strength. He'd been doing quite a bit of it since he'd turned, and he'd actually been seeing some improvement in his athleticism lately. Yesterday though, the main point had been for it to keep his mind off of a great deal of things. The few days previous and lacrosse practice included. 

He'd been blowing it off a lot lately, not wanting to have to deal with Scott, Isaac and their bullshit, even though he used to enjoy the game. Or at least watching them, because it wasn't like he actually played much. Derek had actually asked how things were going since he'd gotten the bite, having remembered how Scott had improved when he'd gotten it, and how easily basketball had come to him when he'd been younger. He'd noticed the embarrassment that he'd gone through, how Stiles had neglected to answer right away, and had pried everything out of him. How they'd been basically inseparable in two on one drills, and going easy on everyone except Stiles, but no one could really tell. Except for him. It was much easier to tell with wolf senses than human when another werewolf was holding back their full strength and when they were not. 

Which of course, had prompted Derek to ask him what he was doing about it. And he'd been appalled when Stiles had simply said, meekly looking up through his eyelashes up at him from his downcast head, nothing. What could he do? Up against an Alpha he was basically nothing. He could probably push Isaac around a little bit, but he doubted it would amount to too much, except maybe a beating in the locker room after everyone else had left. 

So Derek had smirked at him. 

And now he was on the field, his stick in hand, staring across the field at where Danny stood in goal, waiting expectantly in full pads. He wondered, not for the first time, why Finstock only had him dress in padding, when the rest of them were just as likely to get hit with stray balls during practice, and even more likely to break bones barreling into each other at full speed. Then again, it was Finstock, he thought as he once again adjusted the straps on his helmet to make sure that it was secured. Between him and the goal, as usual, stood Scott and Isaac. The two of them had proven nearly unbeatable as defenders, even though in games they played as forwards. Finstock's coaching made absolutely no sense, but then again, Stiles supposed if the team couldn't score against two werewolves but came close, they could probably score against two humans, no matter how damn good they were. 

He grunted a bit as he stared the two down, a shrill screech piercing his thoughts - and his eardrums. He'd thought that coach's whistle had been bad enough before. Just a few days after the full moon, and having not heard it in a while... that was down right unbearable. Scott and Isaac, of course, didn't show any signs of it having bothered them. They had at least a year of listening to the stupid sound with heightened hearing to have been able to tune it out to nothing on him. He swore he could hear one of them snicker at his reaction from where he stood. 

"STILINSKI!" he heard the man shout immediately after letting the tin noisemaker of doom fall against his chest again. He came over, taking a fist full of the cage of Stiles' helmet in his hand and wrenching it to the side to force him to look at him "You wanna maybe run the drill before we all die of expectation!? The entire rest of the team still has to go!" 

"Yes coach." Stiles grunted back, stumbling slightly when Finstock released him a bit too roughly and went on to grumble something about how first Stiles hadn't bothered to show up for weeks of practice, and then when he finally had he seemed to not be able to remember how to play the game. Not that he'd been very good at it to begin with. 

Of course, Stiles had heard all of this mumbling and grumbling even as Finstock's back was to him, and let out a snort of indignation. If it had been two days before the full moon and not two days after, he probably would have scooped up the ball at his feet and propelled it right at the back of the coach's head. Luckily enough for everyone in attendance, he had more control over himself than that. The snickering from the 25 yard line had grown into a full on hissing laughter, and Stiles managed to look up to see Isaac holding on to his stomach with one of his gloved hands. The wolf was nearly bent over double, the burgundy of the top of his cyclones helmet clearly showing as he tried to get over his fit of giggles at Stiles' humiliation at the hands of their coach. 

'You really aren't going to take that from those two jackholes, are you?' He could remember Derek asking him with a bit of a teasing laugh yesterday when they'd been training, after he'd asked about how practice had been going and Stiles had told him he hadn't been going. And why. 'Stiles, you never used to let me have my way when I first got back into town, why are you letting them use you like a rug?' 

The teen had pointed out the obvious differences in strength between Omegas, Betas and Alphas, things that he knew Derek knew, and Derek had just gave him a relaxed smile full of affection as he pointed down at black scuff marks on the floor that had been made by the heels of his boots. 'You've been pushing me around this room for hours, have you not realized that?' 

His anger boiling, Stiles let his cleats bite into the soft grass of the field below him, spraying his team mates with turf as he rushed forward. His stick swept over the grass as he did, scooping up the ball with in the most fluid motion he had ever been capable of. He made sure to keep his speed down to human levels, like Derek had warned him. He didn't want to attract too much attention to any of them. Even with Chris Argent gone, there were other hunters out there, and those weren't the only dangers for werewolves anyway, even if the Argents had been on their side before they'd left. Snorting breath from his nose like a charging bull, he hurtled himself headlong down the expanse of green before him toward the two other werewolves. He felt his eyes switch over as they locked on Isaac in particular, though he was completely aware of Scott's motions in his periphery as well. 

The alpha frowned behind the protective cage of his helmet, leaning over to elbow Isaac in the ribs to get his attention, to get him to focus. That had always been Isaac's problem, he never worked well with divided attention. The Beta looked to Scott for a moment before shifting his attention back to Stiles, who was quickly closing the gap between them. The two moved forward, rushing at him and coming in close to each other to try for a combined shoulder block, something that they did to Stiles quite often. Any other day the maneuver would wind up with either of them catching him in the sides of the chest and shoulders, knocking the air out of him before he even hit the ground and completely stunning him for a few minutes once he had. However, in the few seconds before their three bodies collided, he saw an opening, and he went for it. It was never anything that he'd notice in a million years, but today it just clicked. 

Today he was going to show these two pricks up. They were not going to continue to walk all over him. He was not going to be their welcome mat anymore. 

Just like he'd seen about a hundred million times watching Mets games at home with his dad, he folded his left leg under his body, allowing his right to take all of his momentum forward as he brought his stick in close to his chest and let himself fall gracefully to the ground. He felt grass and dirt kick up around him from under his cleats as he slid forward, heard the thundering of feet on either side of his head and shoulders going in the opposite direction with just the tiniest bits of fiberglass and metal guarding his eyes, his nose, his jaw and his brain as they did so. The wind was a rush past him, bringing scents of surprise, confusion and then boiling rage to his nose as he popped up on the other side of the hole made by Scott and Isaac's bodies and continued his run toward Danny and the goal, stopping only to hurtle the ball at a piece of net just out of the tender's reach to the cheers of the rest of his team. 

"Holy shit." He heard Coach curse from the back where the line of students had been standing, but were now running up to him to clap him on the back. The man took a staggered step back in surprise as the others began to rush forward to come and congratulate Stiles. 

Danny, of all people, was the first one to reach him. It was a two fold surprise, first simply because he had all of the padding slowing him down. Sure, he was the closest one to Stiles, but he had at least twenty extra pounds on him compared to everyone else. Not to mention, Danny was a great goalie, he hated to be scored on, even if it was someone in his own team. Sure, he was usually glad when teammates were getting better at the sport, but that didn't mean that he liked to be loosing his own special touches. 

But Danny didn't just look happy for him as he jogged over. He looked absolutely ecstatic as he nearly tackled Stiles to the ground. 

Their goal keeper threw his arms up and around his shoulders in a hug full of affection even if it was encumbered by shoulder and chest padding. "Dude, that was the best thing I have seen since... Since Scott did that flip over Jackson two years ago. Might have been even better." He said. There was a moment where he stopped to think for a moment or two, as if considering, and then he chuckled. "No, wait, what am I saying? that was way better." 

Stiles couldn't help but to smile at the complement, even as Danny smashed their heads together in a congratulatory headbutt, moving away so that others could move closer to him. The physical attention like this didn't hurt as much as it used to, nor did it make him nearly as unsteady on his feet as it had before. The crowd took on a life of its own, sort of like an amoeba under a microscope in biology class. One of the newest members of the team, a freshman named Liam who in all honesty looked like a cocky little shit, was one of the next faces that stood out to him. 

"That was really cool." he said, though there was something about his voice that was more than a bit off-putting, begrudging in a way that made Stiles hackles rise. "The way you used their bodies against them like that. If they'd tried to get any closer to try and stop you from sliding, if they even saw that coming, they'd be tripping on each other." 

"That was the plan." Stiles said, raising a brow. Who was this kid, really? Apparently he knew lacrosse well enough, had probably been playing since he had been old enough to hold a stick with the pompous attitude that he had about it. That didn't excuse the stick he had up his ass about the entire thing though, in fact, that just made it all the worse. 

"They also would have stomped your face in." And with that, the kid was gone walking with his head down toward the locker rooms, and Stiles was left staring at his back. 

"He's like that with everyone on the team." said someone else, and the cycle started all over again, each new teammate coming up to him with a congratulatory slap to the back or a gloved fist bump. It had been going on for a while now, squeezing him in from all sides. It really wasn't that great of a move, something that any one of them could and probably would have done... so why were they all so eager to be on top of him right now? Stiles was beginning to feel smothered and just a hint claustrophobic when a hand fastened down around his upper arm and Finstock pulled him out of the pack, blowing his whistle. "Everyone get back to the drills." he said. 

Stiles gave another clear grunt of discomfort, rubbing his ears a bit as they rung with the aftershocks of the whistle being so close to them. His eyes were closed in discomfort for a long few moments before coach's voice stirred him back into the land of the waking and willing, causing them to open. Finstock looked over at him, giving him a smirk. "Stilinski, how would you like to be First Line?" he asked. 

"Wh-what?" Stiles murmured, feeling as if his legs had turned to jell-o. Behind him somewhere, he heard the low growls of Scott and Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "My Blood" by Ellie Goulding


	9. I'm Calling you Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo new chapter. 
> 
> Alright guys. Just want to let you know that My next few chapters might be coming slower. For those of you who have been following me on Tumblr or remember my A/Ns from previous chapters, I've been working on getting a PSD for my anxiety. Well, I got an awesome call earlier this afternoon while I was taking a break from working on THIS chapter (which I know, is a bit short, but I promise it's makes up for that in content). 
> 
> The rescue that had the dog that I fell in love with last week and was my first choice for a PSD accepted my adoption application today. We're going to go meet/pick him up on Saturday and then we're starting training. This is going to be intense.
> 
> Obviously I'm not going to leave you guys high and dry, I will continue to write, but I can't promise weekly updates anymore.

By the end of practice, Stiles was flying high and riding a wave of pride that he had not felt since he had attained his first A grading after being diagnosed with ADHD and getting medicated. He whistled happily to himself as he changed from his practice clothes, shoving them into his locker without preamble and pulling on a pair of khakis and a t-shirt to go home in. Despite his impressive mood at the moment, the teen was still undeniably cautious. He decided to skip a communal shower, not really wanting to be stuck in the locker room after most of the other boys had left. He was not going to get stuck anywhere with Scott and Isaac. Not today. Not after what he'd done on the field, not after hearing those growls. Oh hell no. 

No, he was going to go home, take a shower, do his homework, and maybe just relax today. Maybe. He was as always free to swing by the loft, but he had a feeling that Derek wasn't going to be home. They'd called Cora on Saturday afternoon, after he'd finished his homework and they'd all been lazing around, and told her about what had happened during the full moon. What he'd seen, what their mother had said. She'd, of course, told Derek that she'd be on the next flight back to Beacon Hills.  

It was a long flight from Brazil. She was probably just getting in now, what with the layovers in different cities and the time differences between Brazil and California. He didn't want to ruin family reunion time. Not to mention she was probably exhausted and just wanted time with core pack to recuperate and then a good, hardy nap. No, he'd go over tomorrow, better to let them all settle in for now. Homework now was probably the best idea. 

They do say though, that best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. And that was exactly what happened between the locker room door where Stiles was putting his book bag over his shoulder and fishing his keys out of his pocket, and his parking spot in the school's lot where he'd left Roscoe that morning.  

As he got into the old CJ, tossing his trusty old pack over into the passenger's seat, a thought occurred to him. Deaton. Derek had taken him to see the old druid while he'd been healing from his injuries after the attack by the mountain lion, when he'd received the bite, and again the other night to make sure he hadn't been injured wondering around in the woods on all four paws. Saturday night some more of what he had seen had come back to him, more of what Talia had said. Last night, the rest of it had come into extreme focus. Things that he honestly didn't know what to do with. They were things that, beyond everything else, he knew he couldn't tell Derek.  

Deaton and Talia had known each other, very well when she had been alive, he now knew. He'd been her Emissary, after all. Her connection to the realm of men and magic. So, perhaps the vet would know more about the type of riddles that Derek's mother liked to talk in; he probably learned to talk in them from her for all that he knew. And maybe, just maybe, Stiles could tell him a few of the theories that he had going himself. Because he couldn't possibly fill Derek in on them, that was for sure. He just had to be fast. He didn't know how much time he'd bought himself skipping out on the shower, nor did he know if Scott was working tonight. If he was, he didn't know when he'd show up. Best to get to the clinic as soon as he possibly could and make this fast. So he pushed Roscoe as much as he dared without risking the wrath of the sheriff's department. 

When he got there, moving through the door, there was a client waiting in the small reception area, who looked up at him for a moment. Stiles could smell the grief welling off of her as soon as he had opened the door, it had slapped him in the face. It was a little old woman, a handkerchief blotted with tear stains and runny, watered down mascara clutched in her gnarled old hand. She was wearing a sun hat low over her face, and her other hand held a cane. A dark shawl was wrapped over her hunched shoulders despite the heat of the day, and even from the distance he was standing away from her, Stiles could see little strands of fur sticking out against the knit pattern. It took him a minute, he recognized her lined face just as Deaton was coming from his office carrying a handled paper bag, looking remorseful himself. 

"Here you are, Mrs. Jacobson." he said, moving beyond the swinging mountain ash gate over to the old woman. He handed her the bag, and bent down to give her a heartfelt hug. 

"My heartfelt apologies that I couldn't do more for Sebastian." 

"Oh Doctor Deaton…" The woman murmured, her voice muffled by the veterinarian's shoulder. "I'm sure you did all that you could for him, dear. Thank you for trying." Her voice was fractured, and from where he stood, Stiles could smell the salt of fresh tears. He suddenly felt awkward, knowing he was intruding on a private moment. He remembered the calloused words he had said about the cat just a few days previous, and now he felt terrible. He'd had no idea it was that close to death. It could have been the old lady's only friend. 

"That doesn't make it easier loosing a patient, or you loosing a friend. Will you be alright?" 

"Oh, I think so." Mrs. Jacobson sniffled, and when the two broke apart, Deaton helped the woman out of her chair. 

Not knowing what else to do, Stiles moved aside, holding the door open for the old woman, who was now carrying the ashes of her beloved Sebastian. "I… uhm… sorry about your cat." he stammered as she passed him by. 

She looked up at him, watery eyes and running make-up under the sun hat and shawl, and offered a brave smile. "Thank you for saying so, dear. I hope your pet is doing well." 

Unsure of what to say, because he wasn't there for that, Stiles just murmured a little "thank you," in response. He watched as the frail little woman walked, heavily relying on her cane, to a beat-up old car, one that he had just parked next to. It was something that was rusted and held dents bigger than his fist, and looked more like a boat than a car. She got in, and the engine rumbled a few moments later. Stiles looked away, feeling terribly saddened for her. When he did, turning back toward the veterinarian, the man was looking at him expectantly. That mournfulness was still shining through his eyes, though he gave a smile to the wolf standing before him. 

"You managed to shift back. Good to see." 

"Staying at Derek's helped." 

Deaton nodded, and moved over to the swinging gate, opening it up so Stiles could walk through. "I figured it would. Pack connections do wonders for werewolves, can help to heal so much and are integrally important to their physical and more importantly their mental well-being," he explained, walking into the back room so that their was no chance they'd be interrupted or overheard. "I'm glad that you were able to forge attachments like that, and I'm glad that it was with the Hales. Being an Omega is no way for a wolf to live." 

Stiles nodded, unable to help but to agree. He hated being considered an Omega, and definitely found himself feeling more emotionally stable since he had realized that Derek and Peter had come to see him as a member of their pack. It made him feel grounded, anchored, at peace. 

"But I don't think you're here just to let me know you managed to find your human skin again." Deaton continued, turning back to look at Stiles with a cocked brow. 

The teen nodded, whetting at his lips and thinking of a way to start. He had been thinking about it the entire way over here, but then when he'd seen Mrs. Jacobson, his mind had just immediately gone blank. It had just left him, all of it. He'd be better just to get it all out. So, that's what he did. "The night of the full moon, before Derek and my Dad and Peter found me, I… I saw Talia at the Nematon." He said. He watched as Deaton's eyes widened, and then narrowed in thought, obviously finding this interesting. "She said somethings. A lot of things. Confusing things. I… she… she told me that she was disappointed that she wouldn't get to watch Derek rebuild their pack. Then she said that she was happy that I would be there to guide him in the right direction." He rubbed his arm with one hand, biting his lip. The next bit made him uncomfortable. "She said that we… we were perfect and… something about the third time being the charm and… and I think… she…. Might have…" 

His face reddened as Deaton's eyebrows both pitched, as if finding this interesting, and reading between the lines already, but still wanting to know what Stiles was thinking. 

"I think that she thought that we might be mates or something." Stiles finally spat out, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die as soon as he did.  

"Well, that is interesting." Deaton said, making Stiles feel even more uncomfortable than he already did. "It certainly explains a great deal." He brought a hand up to his chin, stroking at his goatee a bit as he regarded the young man before him. He took Stiles in, watching him for a long time, his demeanor and how he stood there, how he carried himself. "There's been a change in you since you were first bitten, Stiles. I know you don't see it, probably don't believe me, but I've been watching it happen. There has been a confidence that has grown in you since Derek first brought you to me." 

He moved over to the exam table, and gestured for Stiles to jump up upon it. The teenager did so, turning to face the man and tilting his head. 

"Have you happened to notice how close physically you and Derek are?" Deaton asked him as he moved to stand in front of him. He blinked, his eyes gentle. Stiles thought about it for a moment and shrugged. It was a comforting feeling, having Derek close like he was. "Wolves in the wild, and by extension, their werewolf cousins, are social creatures, even more so than humans. They crave intimacy, touch, close relationships. However, they seek the closest relationship with their mate." 

Stiles blinked at that, going cross eyed a bit as he thought it over. "Oh." he murmured, swallowing a bit. 

Deaton gave the boy a soft, appreciative chuckle as he heard his assessment. "I've known Derek a long time. Even when he was young, he wasn't overly affectionate. He was close with his mother, and his sister Cora, and was friendly enough with Laura and Peter… but not to the level that I have seen him be with you." 

Stiles looked up at Deaton again then, his thoughts going over all of the lingering touches that Derek had given him over the past few weeks. His hugs, holding him close and trying to comfort and calm him. Carrying him around and cuddling up to him. The scent marking. Even the other day, how Derek had been the first one to his side when he'd been sick with himself after having not remembered the night of the full moon and waking up naked in the older wolf's bed. How caring he was then. He'd just sat there, rubbing his back and letting him unload, and then immediately opening up his lap and his open arms to a still-naked Stiles. And he had never taken advantage. He'd just scented him, and held him gently until he was alright. Spoken to him in a voice full of soft sweetness. He blushed at the thought, realizing what this meant, and wondered if Derek knew about the implications of his actions. 

Deaton was watching him again, his eyes thoughtful, and took a step closer to him. "Could you do me a favor Stiles, and shift your eyes for me? I'd like to see something." 

The teen gave a soft swallow, still in a bit of shock from the revelation that had just been thrown at him. For some reason though, he didn't feel like he was drowning, like he had during so many of the other hits he'd taken in his life. The hits he'd taken since the bite. Since his possession. It felt almost natural actually, right. It felt like something that was so incredibly right, something that was a part of him and he couldn't ignore it. He closed his eyes, gave a long breath out through his nose, and actually felt his eyes adjust before he opened them back up. When he did everything else looked so much crisp and clear. So radiant and colorful. 

Deaton narrowed his eyes a moment, frowning. He gave a questioning grunt, and reached over, taking hold of Stiles' chin. He used it to tilt his head one way and then the other, looking in each of his eyes closely. "Well, that is interesting." he murmured. 

"What?" 

"One of your eyes has changed color." Deaton told him. "They were pure blue as a wolf, but your left eye… its Alpha Red. You truly are an enigma wrapped in a riddle." 

"What… what does that mean?" Stiles asked when Deaton let go of his chin, leaning back a bit. 

"Well, I think at least for sure that it means you're meant to be an alpha's mate. Only Alpha's are given red eyes. If Talia and the Nematon are willing a reemergence of the Hale pack under Derek, and she's sure you're his mate… that means by extension you speak with his voice and authority." Deaton told him, giving a bit of a grin to the young boy. 

"Have you noticed anything off about Derek's eyes since the full moon?" 

Stiles frowned a bit. "They flashed on Saturday a little bit, when I was telling him about what his mom's spirit or whatever had told me," he said. "They looked purple." 

"Purple?" Deaton asked, and gave a hum. "Well… ask him to show you his eyes the next time you see him." 

Stiles nodded. "You think they'll be red again?" 

"Fairly certain, given the state of yours." 

"Oh…" 

"What are you thinking, Stiles?" 

"That I am no where near equipped to be an alpha." 

Deaton smiled at him, and opened his mouth, about to say something, but his voice wasn't the one that Stiles heard next. 

"You got that right." The words were a low, murderous growl from across the room, coming from the back door to the clinic. Stiles' head snapped up, seeing Scott standing there, his eyes glowing deep red and his claws extended. His fangs were working on it as well, and Stiles could see the start of the furry sideburns that marked the end of his transformation starting to sprout as well. Well shit. So much for avoiding this confrontation. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

Deaton turned at hearing the menacing noises, blinking in confusion and shaking his head. "Scott, Stiles was just looking for advice." 

"He has Derek for advice." Scott spat, his nose wrinkling in an ugly snarl. 

Deaton gave a frown at the words that the boy used, as well as his aggression. "Your status in a pack has no weight here, Scott. Stand down." he said with a narrowing of his eyes. Stiles was slipping off of the exam table by this point. Unlike every other time that he had seen Scott like this since receiving the bite, he found that he didn't feel afraid. He felt calm, centered for once. Secure in his placement, in the fact that he was justified in being here. He should be here. Deaton was the one who had the answers that he needed. Derek was good for things like this, but not as good as he could have been. His mother had been killed before he'd been able to learn anything that could have been useful in this sort of situation. And even if she hadn't been, Derek had been the second born, and had been a natural beta. His sister Laura had been the next in line and so she would have been the one to get all the alpha secrets. "It's ok Doc, I'll leave." he said. "Thank you for the advice. Derek wouldn't have been able to help with any of that." 

Deaton nodded, to him, but still glared dubiously at his technician as Stiles moved to leave. He walked with his head held high, his shoulders back, confidently and casually. He could hear Scott growling as he did, and as he moved past where the other teenager was standing, he felt a hand close over his shoulder. Claws dug in through his shirt, puncturing his skin, and he could feel blood oozing from the pinhole wounds, smell it saturating the air. 

"I don't ever want to see you here again." The alpha snarled at him. 

Stiles just gave him a deadpanned look, frowning. "Going to be kind of hard for me to not come here, considering Deaton is historically the emmissary to the Hale pack." 

"There is no Hale pack." 

That comment was enough to break something in Stiles. He'd been willing to be the bigger person, to let Scott rant and rave and walk out calmly, no matter what happened to be going on. But that was his pack he had just insulted. His mate. Not only was Scott now turning his back on Stiles and everything that he had done for him, their relationship that they'd had for the last decade, but he'd now spit in the face of everything that Derek had done for him since he'd been bitten. All the advice, every time Derek had saved Scott's miserable life. Derek had been shot, tortured, gone through hell for Scott, all without thanks, and now this was what he got in return? His eyes flared, one beta blue, one alpha red, and he felt his claws and fangs lengthen in full transformation as he reached out and raked them straight across the asshole's face. He felt them catch on his ear, the bones in his cheek, his nose. As Scott was dazed, he reached up with his foot and kicked at his chest, hard, sending him flying backward. 

He watched as the other Alpha went crashing into one of the supply tables, sending swabs, boxes of gloves and rolls of vet wrap flying as he caught himself for balance. He roared in the man's direction, flexing bloodied claws at his side. "Don't you dare say anything about my pack you piece of shit." 

He was met with a roaring snarl back. "You're an Omega! You don't have a pack!" 

The two of them were about to charge each other then, but before they could meet in a collision of fangs and claws and violence, a veil of black dust fell between them. When they hit the area where the line was, both of them unable to stop before hand, a shield of sorts prevented them from hitting each other. Stiles felt a shock move through him from where his skin hit the shield, and he let out a little yelp of surprise and pain. 

"ENOUGH!" Deaton shouted. "Scott, your help is not needed today, go home." 

Scott looked surprised. His boss had never dismissed him like this, and yet, now, he was being whipped around like an abused puppy. Stiles stared down at the line of mountain ash separating them like it was a viper waiting to strike at him again, and so he didn't get to see the look on his former friend's face. "But Doc-" He murmured. 

"This is a place of non violence, and you know that." 

"The Omega started it." Scott whined, sounding like a petulant child. 

Stiles heard Deaton bring in a ragged breath and look over toward him, saw his shoulders shaking with tension, his hands shaking at his sides in the form of balled up fists. "He is the mate of an Alpha, Scott. By right that makes Stiles an Alpha and puts him at the same level as you. He deserves the same respect offered to you." The man said, frowning. Scott looked away from the veterinarian then to bring his eyes back to Stiles, narrowing his red glare. "Enjoying being Derek's bitch that much?" he asked, wicked smirk appearing on his face. 

For a moment, Stiles forgot about the line of ash at his feel. He felt a roar rip from his chest as he launched himself at Scott again, but then felt the barrier bash against him. It hit him straight in the face, his arms, his chest. It took the breath out of him and caused him to skid backward. "You… you son of a bitch…" he huffed, trying to get air back into his lungs. "Don't you even fucking say his name." 

"Get out Scott." Deaton repeated, sounding very close to loosing his cool. 

The other wolf let out a bit of a huff, but turned on his heal and headed back out of the door. A moment later, Stiles could hear the sound of his dirt bike's engine from the back lot as it started and then drove off. Deaton came over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked. 

Stiles could only manage a little nod, not knowing what else to do, if he could say anything at all without it coming out as a growl. Deaton didn't deserve that. He had been trying to help. He felt a soft, supportive clap on his shoulder, even as he shook slightly there where he crouched, still feeling the aftershocks from the mountain ash barrier riding through his system. Not only that, but the emotional fatigue from all of the rage. 

"Perhaps you should go and see Derek." Deaton murmured. "He'll be able to help with all of this far more than I will." 

Stiles looked over at the vet, at his saddened eyes. He hadn't before seen the schism that had happened between his student and his once best friend, but now that he had, it was clear that he knew that Stiles was suffering because of it. What Scott had said could have been worse, was not the worst that he had ever heard; especially not when he compared it to what kids had said to him before and around the time of his diagnosis and when his mom had died. It was still cruel, however. Terribly cruel. He had implied that he was only with Derek for carnal reasons, and that made him sick to his stomach. Stiles gave another very slight nod. 

"Will you be alright to drive, or would you like me to call him?" Deaton asked, still looking concerned. 

"I'll be ok." Stiles murmured, his voice soft, barely audible. 

"You're certain?" 

Stiles nodded, getting up on wobbly legs and heading for the door. 

When he arrived at the loft, Derek met him at the door, actually opening it for him, as if he had heard his footsteps coming up the steps in the building. Or his heartbeat. He was so exhausted that he found he didn't really care what the reasoning was as he just let himself fall forward against the man's heavily muscled chest and took in his scent. It was soothing, working to instantly calm him as his eyes fluttered slightly. "Mnph…" He grunted. Derek wasted no time in scooping him up, not even bothering to slide the door back closed as he turned to bring the teenager into his territory, his personal space. Stiles could smell others just slightly above the scent of Derek that was right at his nose. Peter was here, as he had thought the older wolf would be. And there was another scent… 

"Stiles?" A familiar female voice asked. 

He felt the muscles of Derek's neck tense and relax as he shook his head, presumably telling whoever it was not to bother him, to leave Stiles be for now. Derek knew that it wasn’t like him to be this quiet and withdrawn, that something was obviously wrong. He moved them over to the bed, Stiles only knew because he was laid down, Derek sitting on the edge after maneuvering the boy's head into his lap. He was quiet, not pushing for information or demanding to know who had caused such distress. He just sat there, running his hand gently over Stiles' shoulder. 

As he lay there, he heard the tea kettle go off in the kitchenette. Quiet voices. Soft paddings of feet after a few minutes. And then, he smelt tea, laced with honey, and lifted his head groggily. Peter was standing there, holding out a mug to him, and he reached out, his hand shaking. Derek took it instead, and held the mug to his lips so he could take sips. 

"What happened?" Came that soft feminine voice again, and when he was done, Stiles looked over to see Cora standing at the foot of the bed. Suddenly he felt even more terrible. He'd ruined her homecoming. Remorse struck him like a lightning strike, and the worst part about it was that he knew everyone knew. Could tell by the way their noses wrinkled with the stink of it. 

"No, no… don't… don't feel bad." Peter murmured from where he stood beside the bed. He crouched down beside the bed and leaned over, rubbing his cheek along the side of Stiles', leaving his scent over the boy's own personal one. The scent of pack helped to calm the shock that had taken hold in Stiles since the confrontation at the animal clinic. "Whatever it was, it wasn't your fault, Stiles." Peter murmured, causing Stiles to let out a little whimper and reach out, putting his arms around Peter's neck and bringing him in close. "It's alright." 

A moment later, he felt another cheek at the back of his head, and a calming hand on his back. This touch was slighter than Derek's, more delicate, but he recognized the same strength of the family bond there. It was Cora, Cora scent marking him, initiating him, welcoming him. Cora trying to tell him that things were alright, that she was not angry with him for ruining her coming home, in fact, she seemed more happy that he was here and that he was safe than anything else. He could feel Derek's watchful eyes on him as the two others cuddled against him. 

"We should probably let him rest, guys." He heard his proposed mate murmur from where he was looming over them all. He felt his hand move over his shoulder, gently, softly. The man was so caring and delicate with him. He smiled a little, feeling and smelling Peter and Cora's reluctance as they moved away from him. They didn't go too far though, finding themselves comfortable places on Derek's bed to be close to the rest of their pack. Stiles let out a trilling noise at seeing this, and looked down with another little smile at feeling Cora laying her head down on his hip. He remembered Derek telling him that his sister had said she'd missed him when he'd told her he'd been bitten. He was glad she was here. 

"Der…" he murmured, looking sleepily up Derek. "Can you… show me your eyes?" he asked. 

"My eyes?" Derek sounded confused. "Stiles, you've seen my eyes." 

"Deaton… had a theory." He murmured. "Humor me?" 

Derek gave a nod and shifted his eyes. Stiles smiled when he noticed that they weren't blue anymore. Nor were they that odd mixed violet either. They were red now, shining like rubies under his eyebrows. 

"Derek…" Cora murmured. 

"What?" Her brother asked. 

"They're red again." 

Derek blinked, his eyebrows lifting up toward the center. He reached over for his phone and pressed a few buttons. Stiles was pretty sure that he was getting his camera brought up and shifting it to the front facing. He was certain when he saw the look on Derek's face. "How…?" 

"Your mom." Stiles said, nuzzling against him further. The teen felt even better, more secure against him now that he could see this, now that he had proof. 

"Why… how did you know to…?"

"Deaton's theory… something your mom said to me. Something I didn't tell you." Stiles told him, wishing that he could just fall asleep against Derek right now, but knowing that he had to say this. He looked up at Derek, shifting his eyes as he did so. He let him see his heterochromia, his blue and red. "They think we're mates."

He could hear Peter chuckling a bit where he was curled up behind Derek, and then he gave a little grunt. "Cora…" he grumbled in protest, making Stiles think that his niece had struck him somehow, probably with a soft kick.

"It's not funny, Uncle Peter. It's sweet. And about time."

Stiles looked over at her, and then up at Derek, who was just smiling down at him, giving him a gentle squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "For My Sake" by Shinedown.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I just want to say thank you to everybody. I never expected this fic to hit 10k views, and it did while I was working on this chapter. 
> 
> Secondly, I want to say I'm sorry about how long this took, especially for how short it is. I however, like ending it the way I did. I've been trying to get Rollo calmed down, and he's doing rather well since I picked him up. We've had a few outings, just simple run ins here or there, and he's already picked up a task, at least in theory, he has yet to do it in a public setting (since we've been going places with my grandmother, I haven't been able to train when we've been out like I like except for getting him used to stores, but that's ok since saturday will just be two weeks I've had him.) Stiles (my cat) still hates him.
> 
> Third, I'm gonna let you guys know that I'm going to drop the awesome chapter titles. I'm just not able to come up with good ones all the time. Sorry guys. Hopefully this will help me be able to get you guys longer chapters.

Cora watched from where she had curled herself into a small ball against Stiles' hip as Derek made the entire pack shift a bit so that he could be more comfortable with his mate against him. He had been sitting up in the middle of the bed for about an hour and a half now at the very least, and his back was starting to get sore while he did it. It needed a bit of a break at this point, and his headboard looked like just the place. He made Peter move away from the head of the bed so that he could scoot back, putting a pillow between himself and the heavy wood at the head of his bed. As he did all this, he kept his mate curled up against his chest and stomach, not letting him slide even a millimeter away from the protective warmth of his embrace. Stiles had fallen asleep not long after showing Derek his two toned wolf eyes, eyes that Cora found that she was jealous of. The red and blue tones seemed to balance each other out perfectly, neither being too hard nor too soft in coloration or tone. They were so definitely Stiles, fitting in with his personality so succinctly. When Derek had settled back in, leaning back heavily against the goose down pillows with Stiles curled up against his abs, Cora did the same, Peter falling in line right with her.

She had to admit that she had never seen her big brother so happy before. So content and relaxed. Even when he was a child there had always been some sort of stress on his shoulders, a cloud that followed behind him, some sort of adolescent angst that had held him back from really being who he was meant to be. Here, now, with Stiles snoring gently against his chest, mouth slightly agape and leaking drool onto Derek's t-shirt, with the tip of his nose twitching as he took in his mate's scent, he looked like the man he was always meant to be. The protector, the enforcer. Stiles looked so comfortable, one hand fisted around Derek's shirt, holding on for dear life, but the rest of him so obviously zonked that he wasn't aware of anything else going on around him. It was a far cry from how he'd looked and smelt when he'd walked up the steps to the loft and Derek had brought him inside. He'd been pale, trembling almost imperceptibly, smelling of shock and violence. The scent of ash had been heavy on his clothing. Once Stiles had fallen asleep, Peter had managed to get his own t-shirt off to toss it in the washer, complaining that it smelled of mountain ash, something that at the very least would burn the boy's skin, causing bad reactions if it came In direct contact. 

"Mountain ash and Scott…" Peter had amended in a growl as he padded back from Derek's laundry room, one corner of his lips curled in a snarl and his eyes glowing softly, obviously perturbed. 

"Scott?" Cora asked, looking over at her uncle as he rejoined them all on the bed. She had heard the animosity toward the alpha earlier, but had absolutely no idea what was going on. She wished that her family would let her in. Something had happened while she was away and she didn't like not knowing about it. She heard Derek give a growl. It wasn't menacing for anyone in the room, but meant to be one of protection. She looked over and noticed his eyes glowing red as he looked at the both of them from under his eyelashes, his gaze obviously not wanting to leave the body of his recovering mate. "What happened?" she asked, feeling as if she'd missed something. 

"Scott isn't exactly on Derek's Christmas card list." Peter told his niece, giving a bit of a frown as he leaned over and kissed her forehead. He'd leaned up against her, his chest to her back, and nuzzled his nose now against the nape of her neck. The two of them reveled in the closeness for a moment. 

"He outcast this entire pack, treated us like we were vermin, Peter." Derek groused, and then looked over at Cora, giving a sigh as his eyes turned to their human state again, alpha color bleeding out again slowly. "He gave Stiles the bite, I told you that over the phone. But it was very… he didn't want to do it. I had to twist his arm. I thought their relationship would mend itself once they were both wolves and Stiles was his Beta. It only got worse. Stiles was possessed a few months ago, and he did a few things while he was that he isn't proud of. People died, friends. Good friends. Scott and Isaac blame him for that even though it isn't his fault. He had no control over himself. As a result, he denounced Stiles as an Omega before the bite was even given." 

Cora's eyes narrowed as she listened to all of this. She couldn't believe that Scott would do something like that, not after what she'd seen of the teenager the last time that he'd been here. He had seemed virtuous and good, but obviously was not all that he had seemed. "But Scott and Stiles-" 

"Have been close since they were children, we know." Peter interrupted, giving a bored roll of his eyes as he nuzzled against his niece. "But Scott had been ignoring, even pushing Stiles away even before he needed the bite. He would have died without it, and he would have gone crazy without a pack once he had it. But before he even considered turning Stiles, Scott dumped him onto Derek's shoulders, claiming no responsibility for him." 

Cora was shocked at hearing all of this information. She knew her jaw had dropped as she looked from her elder brother to her uncle and back, "That's as good as a death sentence, for a wolf to not have a pack before it's even turned." 

Derek nodded, looking like he didn’t wish to think about it as he curled himself a bit more protectively around Stiles. Her eyes softened as she watched her brother do this, and she reached over, running a hand over his arm where it was wrapped around Stiles' shoulders, bringing him in close to his own chest. 

"You really do love him, don't you?" she asked, her voice velvety soft, smooth as she addressed her brother. 

A smile blossomed on her face as she watched Derek's eyes widen, his cheeks redden. He looked over at her, and she swore that she heard him mutter a tiny 'shut up, Cora', under his breath as they all laid there. There was a bit of a smile on his face though, a little look of amusement and affection on his features even as he refused to look at his younger sibling. He was glad to hear her pick up on his emotions, obviously. She knew that her brother, deep down, was an affectionate and loving person, but he just didn't like to advertise it openly. He was especially not fond of it after what had happened to their family, after what had happened to him when he was younger. Kate Argent had done a lot to screw with him, to screw with all of them. Cora was just happy that the entire family now seemed to be coming back to some semblance of what had passed for normal in the pack when she had been a child. It was smaller now, but less broken than it had been last time she had been in Beacon Hills. 

"He loves you too, you know." She said after another few long minutes. 

Derek looked up at her, and though he didn't say anything, he tilted his head as he watched her. He looked back down at Stiles again after another minute, where the boy was curled up tight against him, looking so comfortable and complete. Accepting of the world as it was now. Derek had never seen Stiles so beautifully at ease, especially not since his change. It was only when he was sleeping that he was so quiet, so… relaxed. He wished that he could see his mate like this in other parts of his life, but it just didn't seem to be in the cards, at least not now. Perhaps In a few years, when he was out of high school and things had calmed down for him. He wouldn't change Stiles though, not for the world. He was perfect, just the way he was, twitches and spasms and running mouth in all. "I know." He murmured, voice reverent and soft as velvet. One of his hands came up and ran along the soft, short hairs behind Stiles' ear, causing a little shiver to run through the younger man. He delighted in watching it, able to feel his mate's nose press deeper against his chest. 

"Do you?" Cora asked, her voice soft. "You were the center of his world, even last time I was here. He asked Peter about eye colors for you, because he wanted to know. He was going to ask and make sure that the story that he told us was true." 

Behind her he felt as much as heard Peter clear his throat in an indignant manner, but she didn't care too much. Everyone knew about Peter's penchant for lying, and how he'd had it since he was young. He shouldn't be too offended by it. 

Derek looked down at Stiles then, realizing at that moment that this boy never failed to surprise him. He knew that Stiles knew the mechanics of why his eyes had changed from natural beta yellow to killer blue, but didn't know that he had known about Paige. He remembered the conversation that they'd had before the full moon. How Stiles had said that the circumstances for his eyes had been different, because it had been a mercy that Derek had performed, unlike the killings that Stiles had enacted while possessed. He had known about it, he'd known about it all. His clever little mate. He'd just never said anything about it, probably because he'd not wanted to hurt him or to bring up bad memories, that was if he knew Stiles. Derek looked over at Peter then, raising a brow at his uncle in question. 

"You never said that that whole ordeal was supposed to be a secret." Peter offered with a one armed shrug. 

Derek sighed and then looked back to Cora. "He never asked me." 

"He probably didn't want to hurt you, open old wounds. We all know how you get when that happens, after all." Cora said. "Like I said, he loves you." 

"It's true." 

The voice was mousy, small, nearly a squeak. No one was quite sure where it had come from for a moment, that was until Stiles moved his head, bumping his forehead against Derek's collar bone with a little bit of a grumble. The motion was small, accompanied by minute little twitches of his little button nose. He gave another little grunt as he readjusted himself, opening his eyes and looking up at his mate. Derek smiled down at him, leaning in close and nudging his nose into Stiles' cheek. He held the gesture there for a moment, nuzzling gently and taking in his scent, placing his own over Stiles' personal one, adding it to the kaleidoscope of pack that now hovered atop of him. 

"Are you feeling better?" Derek asked in a soft whisper, watching the young male with careful eyes. 

Stiles gave a nod whose motion was made sluggish by the fog of sleep that still hung loosely over him. The nap hadn't been terribly long, maybe forty-five minutes to an hour, but it looked like it had recharged his batteries fairly well. He was no longer pale and shaking, and no more did he smell like a scared, abused little puppy. He smelled more confident, more at home. At ease and knowing that he was safe. Coming around a bit more, his large eyes took in his surroundings, the placement of the pack around him, and he blinked a bit, looking down at himself as he realized that he was cooler than he should have been. "Where's my shirt?" he asked, sounding a bit freaked out with the realization that he was naked from the waist up. 

"I threw it in the wash." Peter told him nonchalantly. 

"While I was asleep?" 

The older wolf offered merely a shrug. "It smelled like mountain ash and was bothering my nose. I figured that it probably wasn't helping your condition when you came in here looking the way you did. It isn't good for us." 

Stiles blinked, giving a little sound of shock. "Oh." he murmured. "Thank you, Peter." 

In response, Peter just came up and nuzzled against his nephew's mate, running his cheek over Stiles'. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to my alpha's mate, now would I?" he asked, looking up at Derek with a soft grin. 

"What did happen, anyway?" Cora asked after a moment. When everyone looked over at her she groused and then looked to her uncle. "You said he smelled like Scott and he looked terrible when he came in." Her eyes then shifted over to Stiles again. "And you said something about Deaton." She only wanted to know what had happened so that they could all help. 

"I went to go see him after school." Stiles informed them. He was quiet, but then frowned and looked up at Derek, as if looking for comfort. But then he remembered what had happened, what he had done earlier in the day. "Wait, no, after practice. It was awesome by the way. I totally showed up Scott and Isaac. It was awesome." he said the last word in a sing-song voice, looking incredibly proud of himself. Derek rolled his eyes and gave a delicate smile to him. He tilted his head a little bit, moving from one side to the other, which Stiles took as plenty of indication to go forward. "They went to go tackle me in a two on one again, and I just, I saw this opening and I did this huge slide between their legs, and while they were trying to figure out what happened, I scored on Danny." 

"That's great." Derek said, voice soft and smile beaming from ear to ear and showing teeth. "I'm proud of you, standing up for yourself finally. You really needed that." Stiles gave a little grin, and put his arms around Derek's shoulders, nuzzling into his throat after he shifted himself a bit so that he was chest to chest with the older man. 

"So what happened next?" Derek asked then, pressing the tip of his nose to that of his mate as he heard Stiles give a little groan. Obviously he wanted to avoid thinking about the next part, whatever it had been, and Stiles closed his eyes as he did move on. 

"I went to go and talk to Deaton, about what your mother told me." Stiles said. "Deaton, he asked me if he could look at my eyes, so I let him see. This was after I told him about all of the things that Talia had said the other night, by the way, and then he asked me if I had noticed if your eyes had changed at all. They were purple the night after the full moon, when I was talking to you about all of this. I was just getting ready to leave when Scott showed up," he sighed, taking a bit of a shaky breath. Despite all that had happened, it still hurt that things were going down this way between himself and Scott. Hurt him deeply. He nuzzled against the bottom of Derek's chin, looking for even more comfort. His mate was quick to give it to him, running his over run of Stiles' spine in order to keep him calmed so that he could continue to speak. "He said… a lot of shit. Things like the Hale pack didn't exist… and that… well, when Deaton told him I deserved more respect than what he was using to speak to me with because I was an alpha's mate, which meant that I spoke with the authority of that alpha, he insinuated that… that I-" He let out another breath. He could feel the anxiety welling up within him, boiling up to the top like he was a kettle. 

He couldn't do this, couldn't say this. 

What Scott had said, it was terrible. 

He could feel himself starting to shake again. 

How could anyone ever think of what he had with Derek… of this relationship, this pure, shining, radiant thing, and bastardize it, sexualize it as much as Scott had? Drag it through the mud. And it wasn't that he wouldn't love that, wasn't that he didn't find Derek incredibly attractive, because he did. Oh god and how he did… but… This was so much more than that. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip. 

And felt a soft set of lips press against his forehead. Warm and soft, delicate. 

"I'm with you." The words were an oath breathed against his skin. Derek. Sweet Derek. Scott could say what he wanted, but he'd never be able to take this away from him. This caring, sweet man with the extra hard candy coating would be here to protect him no matter what was said or done. This was his mate, his wolf, his love. He had to get this out. 

"He said that I must really enjoy being your bitch," he let the words tumble out in a rapid slur of speech. He felt Derek begin to tense against him and continued on before the other man could interject in tirades of angry eyebrows. "He would have said more, would have made it worse if I hadn't tossed him across the clinic. And then Deaton put up the barrier between us and told Scott to get the hell out. He told me to come here after. I guess it was really bad…" 

Derek's eyes were red when Stiles looked up at him next. His body was as a stone with tension where he sat, and a low growl moved from his throat, ripping it's way from his chest. He hadn't been a fan of Scott since this whole thing began, this whole plan to ostracize Stiles, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know how his opinions aligned themselves now. The grand design to push him out when he had really been the heart of that pack. Not only that, but that little bastard had done the same to him. He'd battered and bruised them all, acting like nothing more than a brute, a mindless animal, giving in to the baser instincts of the wolf that Derek had tried to steer him away from. It was clear now that the boy hadn't listened and still wasn't listening. 

"Derek… I'm alright." Came Stiles' soft voice from where he sat, still curled up against his mate. As much as Derek hated to see him distressed, Stiles was the same way, not wishing to see that look of incredible rage and anger on his mate, and especially not wishing to be the cause of it. He reached up then, placing a hand against the older wolf's stubbly cheek, trying to calm him. 

"No. It's not. None of this is alright. He hurt you. Insulted you, and me. This entire pack." Derek growled out, eyes still shining bright. 

"Derek…" Stiles murmured, starting to feel a bit small. Even slightly scared. He really didn't like that look and wish that he could do something about it. 

"He's right, Stiles." Peter's voice chimed from behind him, and when he turned to look, he saw not only the Uncle's wolf blue eyes staring back at him, but also Cora's beta yellow. They had all been drastically affected by what Scott had done, what he had said. The insults were simply not going to stand. Not with the Hales; not this time. They had all gone through too much to allow for that. Way too much. Seeing all of them, shifting their eyes like that, in support of him, because of what he had gone through today, it filled him with a sense of being home, of belonging. He smiled to them, feeling like he needed to hug them all, like he wanted to keep them all in close. His pack, his little pack that was so wonderful and loving and just wanted the best for him, wanted nothing more than to protect him. He wanted nothing more than to do the same for them. To be there to defend them, to right the wrongs that had been done to them, because they, these three selfless, caring, loving people had been through too much in their lives already. He had gone through a lot, sure. He had lost his mother, had nearly lost his father, had been bullied and pushed around and nearly killed more times than he could count, but at least he had been held together by something. Peter, Derek and Cora… they'd had their entire family ripped away from them. 

They deserved more. 

"It's a stain on all of us for him to do this." Cora added, giving a definitive nod as she agreed with Peter. 

Stiles nodded, understanding what they were saying, what they were all feeling. He could feel it and smell it too. And he hated it, hated that he hadn't been able to do anything to prevent it. He just wished that he could do something about it, that he'd been strong enough to do something about it at the vet's office earlier. 

He was still trying to think of some way to take the pain away when he heard them. A distinct, definitive 'click click click' of a pair of heals on the stairs outside the loft. The door was still open, making the sound bounce and echo through the stairwell out in the hallway, through all the empty rooms and other apartments, and into the large space where all of the wolves were still lounging. Already tensed, all four heads spun to the open, empty doorway, just in time to see a head of strawberry blond hair ascending the last few steps on the flight of stairs outside. The scent of expensive French perfume rolled to them with the momentum of the rushing footsteps. Though Peter, Derek and Stiles all recognized the scent of the woman approaching, none of them relaxed. 

"What did you do, Stiles?" Lydia Martin asked as she descended the three steps into the wolf's lair, their territory, crossing the threshold without even stopping. Her eyes were wide, full of fury and shock as she watched them, her red hair bouncing freely around her shoulders as she approached them as much as she dared. Her head cocked to the side slightly as it did when she looked as if she was considering murder. Stiles was reminded of the text that she had sent him after Derek had told him of the fly possessions that had happened while he was under the Nogitsune's control 'I'm a banshee, not a werewolf. I do what I want, Stiles.' That's what she had said. It had been the last time that they had spoken. It hadn't been a real conversation, but it was the closest that they had come to one. They hadn't even talked in school - Stiles had changed a lot of his classes around to avoid Scott and his pack mates while in a cramped classroom or passing in the crowded halls. 

"I'm sure he didn't do anything, Lydia dearest." Peter growled in an almost petulant tone, his eyebrows flicking as he set his eyes upon her. They were wolf blue with warning, and as Stiles' gaze flicked over the rest of his pack, the rest of them were the same, looking for signs of aggression from the member of the rival pack. All of them had some tenuous sort of connection with Lydia, but in this moment, friendship, or whatever the hell, it definitely went to the wayside in comparison to the pack bond. They stuck with their own here. They were sticking with Stiles, close. 

The banshee crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at them all, as if that would do anything. She was not having any of this, apparently. "Oh, he did something alright." She said. "Scott's going on a tirade. And not one of the normal ones, either. He's pissed, walking around with murderous red eyes and growling at us all like we're the enemies. Us. The pack" 

"Gee, I can't see why that would be." Stiles replied in a deadpan, rolling his eyes. He wasn't surprised by her report, having expected it. Scott had always been more heavy handed, more stuck on things than anyone else he'd ever known. To hear that he was pissed about what had happened at the clinic and was taking it out on those closest to him and standing by him no matter what did not surprise him in the least. "Because he's never done that before, ever." 

At his back he felt Derek's lungs give out a huff of laughter. At least someone was amused by his comment. 

"Scott's made it clear that he doesn't consider any of us pack." Cora ventured, throwing her brother's words out into the open to the banshee. 

"Stiles, this is serious. He wants you dead." Lydia's voice broke when she said this, hitching tightly as she ignored Cora completely. It was the first indication that the girl was afraid, and incredibly so. He hadn't even been able to smell it on her before now, thanks to her perfume and the presence of pack so close around him. However, at the moment… it was coming right at him, hitting him in the face like a sledgehammer. Her fear was potent, putrid, making the air around them all stagnant and heavy. Stiles had never smelt something like this, not from Lydia anyway. He'd smelt fear from so many others, but he'd never thought he would off of her. He got up, extricating himself from Derek's arms and from the loving embraces of the rest of his pack to walk over to her. She sniffled and threw her arms around his neck, hanging off of him and hiccupping as she tried to bite off a sob. He put his hands around her waist, tucking his head onto the woman's shoulder. "Stiles… I don't… I don't want you to die. You're my friend." 

His eyes softened as he held her, attempting to comfort Lydia. He kept her close, wishing he could do something more to help her. "I'll be alright, Lydia." 

"Stiles… n-no…" She insisted, whimpering. She put her hands on his shoulders, her finely manicured nails digging in to his pale, prone flesh. He could feel them nearly breaking the skin. She looked nearly manic in her desires as she held him at arms length. She was trying to make him understand. Hard. She wanted it so badly that she found that she could strike him, could shake him. She knew though that he'd been through enough earlier in the day. And besides that, if she tried anything of the sort, she was sure the other werewolves in the room would take it as a threat to one of their pack members and would attack her before she could blink. "You don't understand…." 

Stiles blinked at her then, his own hands coming up to her shoulders. He wished he could get her to let go, that he could say something that would assuage her fears, but he could think of nothing. However, the way she was acting, the way that she was watching him like this, it gave him pause. "You saw something, didn't you?" he asked. 

She could only nod in a shocked manner, gulping wildly and bringing herself in close to him to give off a sob. Stiles managed a little swallow himself as he felt her hands run down her shoulders to his biceps and grip tight again. He felt her nails dig as she did this, unintentionally of course, leaving angry red lines deep in his skin, only to heal as soon as the pressure eased. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the Hales, looking to them for assistance, for help. His eyes found Derek's, pleading with his mate. 

From where he was standing, he heard the large man give off a grunt and move to get up. It was the sort of sound that made it seem like he was doing this begrudgingly. Only because Stiles had asked him to. A silent thank you was exchanged between them, and Derek came over and nuzzled his mate fleetingly before crossing across the loft and going to make a pot of tea to attempt to help calm the banshee. 

As he did this, Stiles brought her over to the sofa and got her to sit, offering a smile to Cora when she brought a blanket to wrap around Lydia's shoulders to keep her from going into shock. That was all they needed in regard to the banshee, her to be catatonic in shock. Especially now. 

Once she was settled, curled up against his side, Stiles gave a little sigh. "What did you see?" he asked, watching her with concerned whiskey colored eyes. 

"His claws at your throat." she murmured. "Blood everywhere." 

Her green eyes were sparkling and red with tears as sniffles passed from her. She was obviously trying to calm down, but wasn't managing it very well. A whimper bubbled up from her chest as the rest of the pack, minus Derek who was preparing tea, circled around her and perched themselves in their own respective places. Cora sat on the opposite side of the couch while Peter made a seat out of the spiral staircase. It was a normal place for him, and so people knew to look for him there. 

"Was that it?" Stiles asked, looking up as Derek came over, holding out a mug of tea for Lydia. He sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa, leaning in over his knees. The banshee nodded in response to Stiles' question, taking the tea with some trepidation. She looked almost afraid to be in the den with the Hales now that she had spilled all of this information out so freely. They could all smell her fear. And she knew it, but she couldn't control it. 

"That was all it would let me see. But it was enough, especially with the way that Scott's acting." Lydia said after a long moment. "He means it, Stiles. He means to wipe you out. I don't know if he's going to start a war or what but… he…" She hiccupped a bit again, toed lightly out of her high heeled shoes so that she could put her feet up on the couch with her and draw herself into a smaller figure than she already was. It was an odd gesture for someone like Lydia, who was normally so imposing and standoffish, but he could definitely understand, considering. 

"He means something." Derek said, looking from Lydia over to Stiles. The banshee nodded. 

"He's not the same person that he was. I don't know what happened." She added, looking up from her mug and meeting Derek's gaze when the alpha gave a snort and rolled his eyes. "Even you have to see it, Derek." 

"Oh, trust me, I do." The older wolf growled low in his throat, frowning. "Probably more than anyone else." 

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" 

"I had no reason to." Derek told her, his voice cold and matter of fact. His eyes slid over to Stiles were his mate sat, "until now." 

"What do you mean, 'had no reason to'?" Lydia asked, sounding petulant. "You've had plenty of reasons." 

"There were no threats to myself or anyone important to me." Derek frowned at her. "He was passively aggressively going after Stiles, and I was defensive about that, but not to the extent that I am now. He is my mate. And now Scott is threatening his life. That will not stand. Period." 

Lydia blinked, surprised, and looked back and forth between the two. "Mates?" she asked, breathless. Her eyes continued to shift for a few more moments before a hand came up over her eyes, as if shielding them. Her mouth dropped open, and a laugh, hard and rasping, escaped her throat. It was a manic and disbelieving sound, the sound of one who had been through too much in far too short a time, and recently. "You have got to be kidding me. The two of you?" she asked. 

The entire pack growled at her, and when Stiles looked over at Derek, he found that his alpha eyes were shining indignantly at her, his brows in a tight, angry shape. He was pretty sure that his own had changed in response, considering how bright the world looked to him, the signatures of heat that he could see. He had a feeling he was the only one that didn’t have an angry sound coming from his throat, but then again, he could see where Lydia was coming from. The two of them, him and Derek, did seem like a very unlikely pair. He reached out and placed a hand on his mate's knee, trying to get him to calm down a bit. Derek's ruby gaze snapped over to him, his eyes softening almost immediately, and Stiles gave a tilt of his head to his alpha. 

"It's ok. You don't have to be angry at her, it is a bit weird." the teen told him. "She wasn't insulting us." 

Derek took a second or two to think about this, but then nodded, settling down and allowing his eyes to shift back. 

Stiles let his own stay for a while, seeing Lydia turn to gaze at him. She swallowed a bit at taking in the unique heterochromic tones, a hand venturing out to place itself against his cheek. She looked shocked, amazed, intrigued and dumbfounded. "Stiles…" she murmured. "Those are…" 

"Weird, huh?" 

"Beautiful." 

Stiles felt himself blush as his eyes faded back to their normal honey brown, his gaze shifting downward in embarrassment. "Thanks, I guess?" he murmured. 

He felt Derek lean forward then and gently nudge his forehead into his cheek in a show of reassurance. Peter and Cora had stopped growling in their respective places by now and were just watching, their presence that of gentle guardians watching over the others in the room. 

"You're welcome…" She sniffled, and moved her hand back down to her mug of tea so that she could work on finishing it. It still took her a few minutes, but at least in that time she and the rest of the pack was able to relax a bit better. Stiles was sure that he could hear the tension easing in certain people's muscles. He wasn't going to say who's, but they were big and muscular and may or may not have been an alpha. 

When she was done, she leaned forward and put her emptied mug down on the table a bit away from Derek's thigh. She watched the four werewolves for a few long moments, giving them each soft glances. "I'm sorry I didn't come around sooner." she said, her green gaze moving over to Stiles in particular. "I didn't want it to seem like I was choosing sides." 

"You have a funny way of showing that." Stiles told her, raising a brow. "Sitting there and…" 

"I wasn't choosing his side, Stiles." She said. "I just… I needed… I needed to know." 

"What he was capable of?" 

Lydia gave a nod. "I don't want to be a part of that world. A part of that life." 

Stiles shared a glance with his mate, putting an arm around Lydia's shoulders to try and comfort her, bringing her in close to him. Derek watched them with interested eyes, lifting a brow as he tried to read into the situation playing out in front of him. He weighed his options here, knowing that he'd have to tread lightly. On the one hand, it would strengthen the pack in more ways than one. They'd have another member, but they'd also have a banshee, and edge against death itself. On the other, it meant that Scott would more than likely feel even more threatened by the Hales. He'd be loosing more of what he considered part of his pack, another 'friend', another pawn to use whenever he saw fit. 

He'd be angry about that, wanting to fight dirty; he'd already be trying to rebuild. 

Stiles looked like he was getting impatient for an answer as the seconds continued to tick by in the endless march of time. One eyebrow rose at him, followed soon after by the other one. After another moment, the two of them wiggled around a bit on his forehead, waiting for an answer from his mate. 

Derek finally conceded another few moments later. "Fine." he said. "Fine, fine." 

Stiles smiled, and looked back down at Lydia, "Welcome to the pack, Lydia."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, its up before my birthday! Yay! Happy un-birthday to you guys, I guess (the 20th is mine). Sorry this took so long, Its been a weird month. Between trying to get Rollo public access trained, regular OB classes, service dog training, the heat, and my health going south, it's been just... oi. And then there's the fact that I ALMOST got back to work, and then he got banned even though I got him back in control, so now we're looking for a SECOND trainer to get even MORE training for him. Meanwhile I have no health insurance, no money, and just absolutely no energy. So I started a GoFundMe to help with at least his costs. If any of you would be so kind as to share it on your twitter/tumblr/facebook accounts, I would be eternally grateful! Anyone willing to give even just a little bit will get the most awesome love and affection that I can give them (and I'll send you progress shots if you let me). I'm even doing commissions if you don't want to give something for nothing. All details are on the GFM page.
> 
> Thank you so much gentle readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and that it was worth the wait!
> 
> -Conri
> 
> https://www.gofundme.com/trainingforrollo

Flesh against flesh, bone against bone. One slam after another, with the harsh cuff of violent noise hitting his ears. The rhythmic pounding and heavy thrusts as he threw his arm forward made his limb ache from knuckles to his shoulder joint every time he punched into Derek's waiting hand. The sinew that controlled his fingers vibrated uncomfortably all the way up his arm, as if he's come in contact with a brick wall, which lines up perfectly with the hard, almost earsplitting thuds every time he connected. It made sense, considering that Derek himself, was in fact, built like a brick wall. With each connection, he barely moved, didn't even flinch.

He feels like he's about to break something at any moment, like his arm is about to shatter, or his wrist will snap, and he hates feeling so weak. He's punching as hard as he can, and it's hardly making Derek build up a sweat. He can see the look in Derek's eyes over his waiting hands every time he catches one of his fists, the concern laced with pity. He hates that look in his mate's eyes. It makes him put more effort in, to try and prove it wrong, to work above it. But he doesn't know if he can ever get past it, work it out. At least not for a very long time. 

Across the room he can hear Cora beating up a reinforced punching bag, one able to withstand werewolf strength, and Peter's grunts as he does push ups even farther away. The entire pack is down on one of the lower floors of the building today, training. Derek had gutted this entire floor to make a training gym fit for a pack at least twice their size while he'd been mostly laid up during Deucalion's siege of Beacon Hills. It was much like the little arena he'd made of the abandoned train depot back when he'd first became an Alpha and had had to teach Boyd, Erica and Isaac how to control their shifts, but it was so much more. So much nicer. He'd really put his Hale money where his mouth was with this one. There was actual equipment here, like the punching bag, but also a state of the art elliptical, bench press and leg lift, a couple of stationary bikes, a speed bag, and a huge assortment of free weights. Most of the rest of the floor was set up like something that Stiles had seen on American Ninja Warrior, and it was incredibly intimidating. There was a warped wall, a salmon ladder, monkey bars he was sure were rigged somehow, and different jumping platforms and things that he'd seen Derek, Cora and Peter parkour off of at each other in little mock battles over the last week. 

He didn't know how they did it, his entire body felt like jell-o after Derek had him do one run through of the course just by himself, without anyone trying to trip him up, and without booby traps. Lemon jell-o too, not even the good cherry or grape kind. Just like everything else about Derek, his obstacle course was intense. He'd been so tired he'd slept the entire next twenty four hours straight. Just another reason that he felt inadequate around the pack. 

Hell, even Lydia looked like she was doing better than he was, and she was just sitting on a stationary bike, theoretic physics book splayed out across the handle bar displays as she moved. He could hear the whirring of the bike's gears from where he stood, huffing and puffing. His next punch flung outward, and was caught by Derek, who used his momentum to spin the teenager into his chest, crossing his arm over him and bringing the other around his waist. Derek's skin was cool against his own super heated body, even through his clothing. He struggled for a moment, but it was no use against the vice like pressure of Derek's arms, holding him tight against him. 

"Let go…" He growled, feeling his eyes change and his claws slide from his nail beds. 

Derek let out a soft sound from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. It was some strange, pinning, wistful little noise. It was something that seemed so odd coming from such a large man, coming from someone with so much blood on his hands, like Derek. He felt the scruff lining his mate's throat and jaw scrape against the side of his cheek as he bent in close. Stiles can feel the older man's breath on his neck, right where his t-shirt has been pulled down a little bit by Derek's little spin of him, and then he feels that long, thin nose of his bump against his chin with a little grumble. 

"You want to take a break?" Derek asks, voice soft as velvet. 

Stiles forces himself to stay staring straight ahead, to keep his eyes looking over at where Cora is kick-boxing the crap out of that punching bag. She's making it sway dangerously on it's supportive chains. It's not just one, because that would be stupid and the thing would be flying off every other second, but four of them are attaching it to one of the sturdy old wood support beams above their heads. He envies the way that she can make it sway like that, like it weights absolutely nothing. He fights against Derek's arms a bit more then, but gets even less progress than the first time and sighs, frustrated. "No." he growls out, failing to keep his voice even. 

Derek doesn't let go. 

Derek does the most unexpected thing, and moves his head slightly, allowing Stiles to feel his chin drag against his curated artery, which his pumping hot and loud against just under the surface of his skin. His lips are soft as they ghost over his skipping, heady pulse, and then press a kiss there. 

Stiles feels his heart stop. 

And then his heart starts pounding again, quickening in his veins and making his blood run like water. He doesn’t know what to do, and his knees feel like they're melting underneath him. Touching is one thing. He's gotten used to Derek touching him, invading his personal space to be so close, his hands wandering over his body in delicate waves over the last few weeks. He'd grown used to the little intricate and yet completely random patterns that his fingers would trace in quiet moments when it was just the two of them, when they could just relax and be them. That was before the tension had redoubled. Before the day at Deaton's office. Before Scott had declared war for whatever reason. But finger touching is far less intimate than what just happened. The lips that graced his skin were far softer than they had any right to be, especially when you took in the full on appearance of someone like Derek Hale. They were unchapped, chaste, caring and soft, as if making an attempt to take away any sort of pain or apprehension, physical or mental. He didn't mean to cause more, and that was clear by the way his body eased around Stiles, his arms loosening up, allowing his mate to squirm free if he wanted to. 

"I'm sorry." he murmured, taking a step backward. His voice sounded small, chastised somehow, almost as if Stiles had finally landed a body blow on him. "I didn't mean…" 

The teenager turned then, first just peering over his shoulder and then making his entire body face his mate. He looked worse than he sounded, completely shattered by the actions he had taken, the few that there had been. He felt sorry for whatever it was now. His anxiety? The fact that Derek had startled him? He had no idea. But he was sorry. His mate's head was down, dragging his shoulders with them. His long eyelashes were ghosting over the high apples of his cheeks, eyes dull and shut down almost completely underneath them. They looked dead somehow, lifeless. 

"I didn't mean to do that…" 

Somehow, hearing that was worse than the unexpected kiss had been. Hearing that Derek hadn't meant to kiss him… that his mate hadn't meant his actions. 

"O-oh…" 

He looked down, feeling like he wanted to run. His eyes stung a bit, and he reached up to wipe his eyes with the back of his wrist. No… he was not going to do this. He was not. He startled as he felt hands pat down over his shoulders, but refused to look up at the source of the momentary comfort. He knew the hands though, without having to do so. Those were hands that had touched him so very many times. 

"No, Stiles… I mean," he huffed, his voice soft and wavering. It was a quality that Stiles had never heard in Derek's voice before, like he was unsure of himself. He didn't know how to proceed, didn’t know what to say. "I mean I didn't mean to scare you like that. To put you on the spot. To force you into anything." He was quiet for a moment, and his hands, pliant and careful, worked their way down over his arms, all the way to his wrists, and back up to his shoulders in a slow and supportive rub. "I would never hurt you like that. Ever. You know that, right?" 

Confusion washes over Stiles then, his head tilts from one side to the other as he looks up at Derek, slowly. His eyes still have that filmy, somewhat dead look to them, as if someone punched the lights out of his brain in the last few minutes. Stiles knows that expression, very well, having seen it on himself a few years ago when his psychiatrist was experimenting with his Adderall dosage and had given him too much the first time. His mother had promptly started cutting his pills in half when she saw the kind of zombie they were making out of her baby. She had almost taken him off of them completely, but his dad had seen the improvements they were making in him, the adjustments his body as going through, kept telling her he was going to be fine. And now here he was. 

But why was Derek looking at him like that? Why did he have mom-face? 

"Yea… I know. You wouldn't do it intentionally." he said, looking up at the older man with a confused look of his own. 

"I wouldn't do it at all." Derek told him. "Not after…" 

"After what?" 

A sigh escaped him then, and he looked over at where the others were. Cora had stopped in her bag routine to get a drink of water and was heading over toward the leg press with a towel wrapped around her neck. Lydia had opted to stay with her machine, and Peter had moved on over to lifting free weights. At the moment, it was relatively quiet, since everyone was just transitioning over. 

"Not here." Derek covered, knowing that even Lydia's hearing could probably pick up their conversation, let alone the werewolves in the room. Even if they waited until the others were actually caught up in their workouts, Peter and Cora would probably still hear. "Let's… go upstairs." he told Stiles, taking his hand gently in his own and heading to the stairs. 

"Where are you two going?" Cora called over to them, intrigue in her voice. 

"Taking a break." Stiles informed, deadpanning over at her as they mounted the first few steps. He let Derek lead him up to the loft, pausing to close the heavy industrial door. Stiles blinked as he watched him do this, wondering what was so bad that he needed even a heavy steel door to shut the pack out from. He looked over, seeing his mate walk over, not to the sofa, but to his-their-bed. Stiles had taken to sleeping on it whenever he was over, just as Derek had to his at the house. He looked almost defeated as he moved over to it, sitting with his head down and shoulders slouched, his eyes flicking to the left and right as if he were trying to think of what to say. He didn't beckon Stiles over to him, knowing that he could come, but sat, quietly, in thought. 

The teen stood awkwardly by the door for a long moment, just watching, toeing off his sneakers before making his way over. He had a feeling that this was going to be heavy, and that they were both going to want to lay down after this. He also knew Derek's penchant for keeping his bedspread clean and wanting to keep shoe grime off of it at all costs. He didn't blame him, really. Who in their right minds wanted dirt and bugs and shit all over their nice, comfy bed? He knew he sure didn't, especially after that one time that he had fallen asleep after a lacrosse game still in full gear after coming home. That had been so gross. 

So he moved over to Derek, padding in his bat-signal covered socks near silently. He sat on the foot of the bed next to his mate, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees so that he could see a bit more easily into the man's face. "What's wrong?" he asked. "What are you so afraid to tell me in front of everyone else?" he asked, threading his fingers together and shaking his hands a bit. When Derek doesn't answer him right away, he tilts his head, first to one side, then the other. The silence becomes unnerving as he finally reaches over and puts his hand on Derek's knee, giving a gentle squeeze as he does. "Talk to me." 

He manages to get his mate to give him a thin, watery smile at that. "Kate." he says, his voice low and almost too ambivalent to be Derek, because there is never a moment that he's known Derek that the man has been devoid of emotion. Its as if with that one word, that one name, its as if the entire sky opens up before Stiles. Its like the ground gives way under his feet and he understands. He understands why Derek was so freaked out about Stiles seemingly not wanting him to kiss him, to hold him close. He understands it all without Derek having to say anything. Because Kate Argent was a bitch. A raging, psychopathic, mass murdering, torturing bitch. He's glad she's dead, actually. Glad Peter ripped her throat out as his first act of liveliness after forever-fire coma. If anyone deserved that sort of death, it had been her, seriously. He knew that Derek and Kate had been involved before the fire, and that was how she had found out about the family, about the layout of the Hale's house, about everything. She had been the one who had betrayed their trust, and she had used Derek, frail, already heartbroken, teenaged Derek, as a means to that end. She'd murdered his family, but it also seemed that she'd done even more to him than that. She had used him, broken him, and thrown him away like a used kleenex when she was done. 

Stiles leans over and places his head on Derek's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek into the soft, musky skin of the bend in his neck, right before the stubble of his beard starts. "I'm sorry." he breaths against him, because he is. No one should have to go through that. No one should be made to feel like an object, like a piece of meat or worse, like a toy. 

He can feel the muscles of Derek's shoulder pull as he shakes his head. "It was my own fault, letting her manipulate me like that" he grunts, taking on the weight of the world with that gruff bravado that he has, that he seems to have always had. At least that Stiles had always known. "I'm sorry that I tried to push you. The last thing I want to do is turn you into me because I start acting like her." 

And like that, another bit of the veil recedes, and Stiles sees more clearly into Derek than he has in years, than he ever has, really. This is a man that has let himself be used, time and time again, because that is what he is used to, and now he's afraid to become the sort of monster that warped his concepts all those years ago, that made him think that it was ok to use someone, to tell someone that you love them and then stab them in the back the next moment. To slaughter their family, to take away their friends, to use them as a shield. What Kate did, what Jennifer had done to him afterward, both of them were inexcusable, and it makes bile rise in the back of his throat to think of Derek giving himself away to these people, these women. For someone so strong and so caring to be so very broken, to the point where he had thought that a simple startle of surprise had been a refusal of advances… And not only that, but a response like the one that he no doubt had had when he was younger to Kate, one that had so obviously been ignored from the reaction that had been put out there earlier. 

"No." Stiles tells him, making his as soft and supportive as he could. He reaches over, fingers taking a gentle hold of his mate's scruffy chin, and lifts it so that Derek is looking up at him, over toward him. He watches the red flickers just under the surface of the soft grey hazel of Derek's eyes when he begins to hold his gaze with a slow blink, the concern that knits his eyebrows as he wonders what Stiles is thinking. "You have nothing to apologize for, Derek." he said. "You weren't doing anything wrong downstairs. You startled me, is all. I didn't know what you were doing, and when I got scared, you stopped and you let me go." He says, sure that its more than what he can say had been done for Derek in the past, when he had been in the same position. He feels so sorry for the man, wishing that he could go back in time and make everything right for him, so that he would know that the reaction that Stiles had had was just a normal one, that there was no shame it what had happened. So that there were no scars on his heart at all, because he knew that their were more than he had a right to carry. "You didn't try and push me at all, and if you had, we both know I would have kicked your ass with all those new moves you taught me." he murmured, trying weakly for some humor. He didn't like this defeatist look on Derek's face. 

He hadn't liked it when Boyd had died, either. Or when they'd found Erica's body in the bank vault before that. It did not suit him. 

Derek was too strong for any of this. He was too good, too pure. Stiles let go of his chin then, figuring that he wouldn't look away. 

Especially when Derek's cheeks broke out into dimples, laugh lines puckering at the corners of his eyes and his lips pulled back from his bunny teeth. A laugh tickled forth from his throat, bending the tense and heavy air around then into something light and beautiful and actually worth breathing. Seeing that made Stiles relax a bit, sagging forward as he let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he waited for Derek to react. That sound… that was a great sound. A new sound. He didn't think he had heard it much, if at all before. He wanted to hear more of it, this fine, trilling laughter of Derek's that almost sounded like the playing of a violin. It was something classical, fine and to be cherished, and Stiles didn't think he'd ever forget what it sounded like, even if he didn't ever get the chance to hear it again. 

He watched as the older man leaned forward a bit, closer to him, and this time, he moved to meet with his mate. Their lips gnashed together in something awkward, heated and needy. It felt so right though, sending sparks jumping up and down Stiles' spine. Derek's lips tasted like the leftovers of his coffee this morning, bitter and dark, without hint of crème or sugar, but not unpleasant. He was warm, lips just as soft against his own, which he knew were chapped and already bruised from just the sheer amount that he chewed on them out of anxiety, as the rest of his skin felt. He wished that they weren't, that there was some part of him that was a bit more soft and perfect for Derek. Something to match him. This, however, soon drifted to the back of his mind as the thrill of being with his mate buzzed around in his brain, consuming him with a more constant high than any Adderall hit could ever supply. Without prompting, wanting to let his mate know that he was fine with this new level of affection, he parted his lips, allowing for a slippage of Derek's tongue when he was ready. He wasn't going to push his mate either, however, knowing what he had been through in his life. He had seemed more than willing downstairs, since he had been the one who had initiated contact like he had, but who knew if that had changed in the last several minutes. Who knew if their talk had made him change his mind. 

Only Derek knew that, and Stiles wasn’t going to back him into a corner. 

He felt Derek reciprocate for him, one of his hands coming around the back of Stile's head to hold him steady as he deepened the kiss for a moment. Two. More. It was heady and dark, and when they broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other, both of them equally out of breath, their hearts pounding in time and their lungs switching with each other so they were each breathing the other's recycled air, Stiles found that he could not feel more contented if he tried. It was the most intimate that Stiles had ever felt, his tongue darting out to taste the remainder of Derek on his lips once his heaving breath had slowed to a more manageable sort of panting. 

"That was… holy shit… I mean… wow…" he spat out in rapid, babbling succession, blinking dazedly. 

"I know." Derek murmured, leaning his head forward so that the tip of his nose bumped against that of his mate, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

"I can't even…" Stiles had had exactly three kisses before that were even remotely romantic, or at least he counted them that way. There had been Heather last year, before she'd been ritually sacrificed, on the night of her birthday, both before they'd gone to the wine cellar and before sending him back upstairs for condoms. And then, a few weeks later, after he'd found out that his dad had been kidnapped for the same purpose, Lydia had kissed him to keep him from going into a full blown panic attack, though it had been incredibly close. But those had been so incredibly different from this. He couldn't help the unabashed grin that popped onto his face as he looked up at the larger male then. "And is that a smile?" he asked, causing Derek to blush a bit. 

This had been… nice. 

Better. 

He moved forward then, and curled up in Derek's lap, tucking his head under the man's chin. He just wanted to lay here for a few hours, right here in Derek's arms. It wasn't because he felt like the outside world was out to get them for once, even though it definitely was. He was safe, he knew that, he was loved. He was home. He just, he wanted to be close to Derek for a while. He'd seen the tenderness under the man's hard shell now, the broken pieces he tried to cover up and tape together. He wanted to do for Derek what Derek had done for him since he'd turned. He wanted to be a rock for him. 

Though he knew Derek would think he was just trying to get out of the rest of his work out. 

"Can we just rest for a while? Call it a day?" he asked after a long while. It wasn't that he didn't want to go back down there… well… not as if part of him didn't want to go back downstairs. He wanted Derek to be proud of him, wanted to be able to fight with the pack, like the rest of the pack did. Looking at Derek though, at how fragile he looked around the edges, how hard he was trying to put that mask, that hard alpha persona back on his face, he knew that his mate needed this too. 

"Cora and Peter will wonder where we are." Derek murmured, his voice unconvincing, head still hung low, or as low as it could get with Stiles under his chin, anyway. 

"They can find us then." Stiles told him with a coy smirk playing at one side of his lips. 

Not that they would. Werewolves could hear through certain walls, so it wasn't as if there was much by way of danger that way, which was great since Cora now had her own apartment somewhere else in the building, and Peter was working on moving in to the building here too. Presumably onto floors that Derek had renovated into living spaces, but hadn't gutted like the loft or the gym space downstairs. It was a pack thing, Stiles knew without having to be told. He knew that the former Hale Pack, the one lead by Talia, had all mostly lived in the mansion at the edge of the Preserve. It only made sense that since Derek had the space in the building that Cora and Peter have their own places here. There was also strength in numbers now with what Scott had done. 

But, that didn't mean that the two of them wouldn't give Derek and Stiles their privacy, or that the layers upon layers of brick didn't dull the senses somewhat. From here, Stiles could hardly hear the empty thuds of the free weights that Peter was lifting as they hit the ground, and he knew that Derek's more acute born-wolf hearing wasn't too much better. It was nice, knowing that they were close, but not having it shoved down their throats constantly like it would have been in a normal residence. They all usually ate dinner together, and spent days training when they could. Sunday was generally their big day to just come up to the loft and laze about, watch a movie on Derek's tv all huddled together on the couch. It was becoming normal. 

Lydia had even started to join in on these little family gatherings. 

Derek let out a musing sound from the back of his throat, his brows laying an impressive line as he thought about all of this. Stiles hadn't finished near any of his work out downstairs, and he knew that if he let the teen go now, he would probably just sleep the rest of the day away. He wasn't used to this much physical activity, or to being so good at it yet, and it tired him out rather easily still, especially when he stopped and thought about what it was he was doing, and how his body used to react. Derek knew he had to push him past his limits or he'd never find his true endurance, his true strength. However, he ran a hand down over Stiles' shoulder, sighing as he knew he was unable to deny his mate's request, even the smallest one. He tilted his head so that he could run his cheek over the crown of dark chocolate locks that covered his mate's head. At the same instant, he let his spine relax, let gravity take his body, and felt the both of them bounce slightly against the mattress as they hit. 

He smiled as he heard Stiles give a little grunt as he hit against his own chest, and then bounce only to hit it again, only for the harsh sound to be replaced by a tiny giggle. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"That was dramatic, even for you." 

"I was emulating you." he groaned as he felt one of Stiles fists hit against his chest. It was meant to be a playful sort of motion, but it had actually hurt. It was a strike that was all muscle and bone against a cluster of nerves, which meant that Stiles really was getting better at all of this. He couldn't suppress the true smile that came to his face then, the pride he felt shining in his cheeks. 

"Asshole," but Stiles was laughing, having not felt the flinch that Derek did not let pull through his body. He was none the wiser, and Derek liked it that way. Better for him to realize it against a true opponent. 

"Its true." 

"Whatever, sourwolf," a little yawn floated up to him as Stiles let himself slip over to his side ever so slightly, though his head and one arm still rested on top of Derek's chest. The other intertwined with his own arm, and Derek could already feel Stiles' legs winding around one of his own. 

"What if I want to get comfortable?" 

"You sleep on your back…." The teen sounded so out of it now, far away and nearly out of reach with sleep. Derek decided to let him drift off the rest of the way. There was no harm in it, not now. He just curls onto his side facing Stiles as much as he can, nuzzles against his mate's brow after the teen sleepily grumbles about his pillow shifting and tries to get comfortable again, and gently puts his free arm over Stiles' steadily snoring shoulders once he fades away into the darkness. 

* *

"…997…" 

It was way too early for this. 

"…998…" 

Seriously, there had to be something in the Geneva Convention against this sort of torture. 

"…999…" 

His stomach felt like way overcooked ramen noodles. All floppy and lacking in substance. He just wanted to flop over the back of the giant workout ball his ass was currently perched on top of and die. Why was he even up at six in the morning anyway? Why? 

"Come on, just one more. Don't give up now." 

He glared down at Cora, who was holding his feet still by the ankles and somehow making sure he didn't fall off of this stupid thing. Right. She was why. She'd come upstairs and abducted him out of his nice warm bed, all curled up and comfy next to her big brother, and pulled him down here for an early morning work out routine. On a Saturday. 

"And don't give me the Alpha eyes either, Stiles, come on." 

He gave her a little growl instead, showing a slight fang, though she only shook her head with a smile in response. She was far too bubbly for this early in the morning. Near effervescent in the amount of awake and alive she was giving off and it was nauseating. He sat there, staring at her, and she watched him back, her gaze slowly devolving into a frown, a cuter, far less threatening version of Derek's unimpressed face. "Oh come on, Stiles. Think of how much Der's gonna appreciate the new six-pack you're going to have." She was trying to smile, to get him to budge, and he just glowered. 

And gave his best impression of an alpha 'harumph' from his nose as he lowered his upper body all the way back down, and then tightened his abdominals as he forced them all to scrunch up and pull the weight back up into a full sitting position, heavy grunts working his way out of his lungs as he pulled off an ugly face and by Cora's count- 

"1000!" She said, letting go of his ankles in a triumphant gesture that had him crashing forward onto his chin on the concrete floor. 

"Fuck!" he hissed, feeling his teeth bite down on his tongue as he moved to curl into a ball. 

"Oh my god! Are you ok?!" She asked, putting a hand on his cheek to suck the pain from him. "I'm sorry Stiles, I didn't think you'd fall, I just thought you'd sit there for a minute." 

The teen gave her a glare from where he was curled up on the ground. He wanted to be mad at her, but in the moment, he could see her concern, her fear, and how much the Hales all looked alike. Cora and Derek might be two incredibly and endearingly different people, but they were far more similar than either of them let on or wanted to believe. He felt her hand move from his cheek as she finished syphoning off the pain from biting his tongue -because seriously, he'd still hand fangs and was pretty sure there was a hole in it now- and run through his hair to try and sooth him. He grunted and lay there, looking up at her for a moment. He huffed and then nodded. "You obviously don't know me very well…" he chided. 

"I'm sorry." she said, her voice soft as she watched him lay there for a moment before getting up. "You didn't break any teeth, did you?" 

He nodded his head in a negative response, rubbing at the back of his neck. "No…" he grunted, spitting excess blood out onto the concrete. There was a good deal of it that had accumulated in his mouth in the last few minutes, staining the crevices between his teeth and at his gum line a sickly crimson. 

"Eech…" Cora grunted, frowning a bit. "Cheek or tongue?" 

"Tongue." 

"If it makes you feel any better, you can bite me." 

Stiles turned to her with one of her brother's patented dead pan stares. "Why wound I bite you?" 

"I made you bite your tongue." 

"So?" He was raising a brow at her now, feeling more Derek than ever. 

"Oh god my brother is rubbing off on you. Make it stop." She chuckled, holding her hands out to block the view. Part of Stiles wondered if this was some ill-conceived attempt to try and get him to laugh it off. If it was, hats off, because it was incredibly badly thought out. 

"Please, your brother's got nothing on me when you interrupt my sleep." he said, grumbling as he got himself up, dusting off his Deadpool lounge pants and chibi avengers t-shirt. The grey on his shirt was molded to his body and darkened considerably with sweat, sticking to him as he attempted to move. He watched as Cora's brows hitched but then she seemed to shrug as if agreeing with him on that one. He was a bear when he got up and everyone in the pack was starting to see that. Up until the point where he got fixed with caffeine and maybe some Adderall. Peter had made the mistake of trying to get the drop on him last weekend when he was staying over just as he was getting up, and had ended up finding himself flipped over Stiles' back, flat on his ass, with the alpha mate's claws at his throat. Everyone had been shocked, save for Derek, who had been what Peter had called at the time 'inappropriately aroused' at his mate's show of bloodlust so early in the morning. 

There had been a rule made after that. No one gets between Derek and either a bottle of mountain dew or a mug of black dark roast Arabica. There were even mornings when one of them went out to get the boy an espresso with a double shot just to be on the safe side. 

"You gonna finish?" Cora asked gently as he tried to pry his shirt from his chest. He was going to have to shower before he tried to get back into bed… that would wake him up, and getting back into bed would wake Derek up. Well this was such a cluster-. 

"Finish what?" he asked. 

Instead of answering his question, Cora just gestured to the rest of the gym space. In the last two weeks, Derek had seemed to notice something and had gotten some different equipment, which included what looked like agility equipment for canines, like you would see on one of the off ESPN channels sometime. He had said that while yes, Stiles' physical strength, stamina and agility had improved by leaps and bounds since he'd turned; as a human he still lacked the emotional willpower to actually fight or to hurt anyone else. Derek had reasoned that tapping into his wolf was the only way to get him to be able to protect himself or others. There were kevlar sleeves too. Just because Derek loved him and wanted him to be able to defend himself did not mean he wanted to get an arm full of wolf teeth. 

"You want me to run at you?" Stiles asked Cora, looking down at her where she sat. 

She gave him a bit of a shrug. "You need practice shifting, getting your time down. You're the only one of us that can take on full wolf, and it’s the only way that you can really fight. If it takes too long, it could get someone hurt protecting you while you shift." 

Stiles stood there for a moment, considering. He didn't want to see his pack hurt. Derek's family… they were his family too. "You have a point." he said, reaching down for the bottom hem of his shirt. He let his change start then, feeling too embarrassed and vulnerable to strip in front of Cora (or Peter for that matter) completely still. The cracks and pops were painful, but not as bad as the first time, and he felt his nose and his jaw shift forward and elongate into a snout with a roll of his shoulders and neck. He dropped down to all fours as his fingers curled and his wrists stretched. He kicked off his pants as he felt fur begin to sprout and his toes started to reconfigure. 

"A minute twenty…" Cora said once he stood there, covered in fuzzy white down. His jaw was slacked in a pant, tongue lolling from the effort. 

"Not too bad considering." She added, coming over to him and running soothing hands from the roots of his ears down the sides of his cape to his shoulders and ruffling the fluff there. He looked up at her, laying one ear against the side of his head in question. "I mean, you had to change your entire body, that's hard. It looks painful." 

He managed to give a little shrug of his shoulder. It wasn't as painful as it used to be, really. The first time he remembered it being blinding. He'd literally whited out mid shift and hadn't remembered what he had done during it until the next day when he'd managed to shift back. The next time had been painful too, but not quite as bad. He'd blacked out, sure, and woken up with Derek's arm in his mouth, but Derek had told him that he'd done it himself to keep Stiles from hurting himself. After that, it had gotten better every time. Shorter too. Derek told him that there would come a point where he wouldn't feel it. He would do it just as simply as if he was changing a shirt, just as his mother had done it a million times before hand. 

He was looking forward to the day. 

He sat there for a moment, letting Cora continue to smooth down his silken white fur. It was a comfortable sort of silence, companionable and sweet, and he could almost feel his eyes closing and his body starting to relax with the ministrations. All of a sudden though, she stopped. He'd at some point started to lean in against her, and his head was now cuddled against her hip. A grumble came from his throat as he looked up at her, and she gestured off toward the course. "You going to do this or what?" she asked him. 

His reply was a gruff half bark and a look over at one of the sleeves, to which Cora rolled her eyes. "Oh please. I told you. You have a free bite on me." 

His response to this was a low grumble and a glare as if to say 'fine, but if Derek hears you scream, this was your idea'. 

"You're the boss, boss." Cora says with a mock salute, making Stiles grumble once again. He looks over at the course, bows himself down in a stretch of his front half, and then lowers his hind end to stretch it out with a few protesting cracks and pops before he shakes himself out. 

He glances over to Cora, who gives him a small nod in return. Having seen the approval, he took off like a shot, running up a steep ramp and then back down the other side before crawling under a tube underneath it. He picked up speed as he leapt over a hurdle, and then a second before his toes came in contact with another ramp. He navigated up this one and then along a narrow catwalk, going fast enough that he didn't think about the height, but slow enough that he didn't accidentally misstep. He'd fallen from this thing once or twice already, and it wasn't exactly fun. Coming down, he made a sharp turn, jumping over another few hurdles, each taller than the last, before he got to a set of poles. He weaved through them, his body darting back and forth so fast that he looked like a little white tornado. The end of the weave poles meant another sharp turn, a long, canvas tunnel he had to navigate, and then a thin seesaw he had to go up, and then ride back down before jumping over the tallest hurdle yet. His paws scaled the top, and he could see Cora on the other side. 

A growl left his throat as he sized up his prey, balanced ever-so-carefully on top of the wall Derek had constructed. Lips curled back from his fangs, and his ears folded back as he bunched up the muscles in his rump and then pushed off. Cora caught him, but his momentum and weight pushed her back against the floor. He felt his teeth sink into the flesh of her arm. 

"Ow! Holy shit Stiles!" She shouted, reaching back around him for the scruff of his neck to try and pull him off. He squeezed a bit, and then moved away from her, letting go easily. He wagged his tail gently in apology. 

"Ow.. You weren't kidding…" was her grumble as she inspected the already healing wounds in her arm. There had been punctures, but he hadn't tossed his head to tear at anything, or put on enough pressure to break bone either. He was already starting to shift back as she said this, but then stopped, letting his body re-form into his wolf shape as he heard someone approaching on the stairs. His white hackles rose as he moved quietly over, belly near to the ground and growl aborted deep in his throat. They weren't coming down, so it wasn't Peter or Derek, but coming up, as if from the front door. He could smell antiseptic, old books, herbs… 

And immediately sat down when he realized who it was. 

Deaton's head came around the corner of the stairs a moment later, and Stiles thumped his thick tail once, twice against the hard floor as Cora worked to pick herself up behind him. 

"Doctor Deaton? What're you doing here?" she asked. 

"Actually, I'm here to see- are you alright, Cora?" The veterinarian asked, his head listing to one side. 

"Fine, we were just practicing." 

Deaton's dark eyes moved down to Stiles then, who grumbled as he licked the barest bit of blood from his maw. His eyes have never left the doctor standing before him. "I'm sure you were." he said, reaching down to scratch at the wolf's head. He stared down with fascination into the heterochromic gaze beaming back up at him, and knelt at Stiles' side. "Could you shift back?" he asked. "I think I may have figured out what it is that caused this." 

Without nodding, Stiles moved away, back to where his pants were laying on the flooring, his body already starting to shift back as he did so. When he had formed hands and feet from his paws he started to pull them up, making sure not to snag the soft, thin fabric on any claws that might still be remaining. He'd almost snagged a dew claw and pulled it back too far getting dressed too quickly once, and it had hurt like a bitch. When he'd fully transformed back he'd had to relocate his big toe. More accurately, he'd had to have Derek relocate his big toe because he had not been ready for that shit. When he was done, he looked over at Deaton again. "Ok, shoot." 

Deaton's eyes flicked to Cora, and Stiles gave a bit of a sigh. 

"Look, she's Derek's sister, Derek's my mate, I'm alpha by proxy, whatever the hell." He made a lame circular gesture with his hand, trying to let on that he was so not in the mood for going through all of this, especially since he knew the veterinarian had already known this. Especially since he was the one who had told him all of this stuff. "She can hear anything you have to tell me, I trust her." he said, looking over at Cora and giving a nod. She gave him a sheepish smile in return, handing him his discarded shirt from the ground and then walked over to take a seat on one of the stationary bikes to listen. Stiles watched her go and then turned back to Deaton, crossing his arms slowly over his chest as he did so. He was aware that it was a very Derek move, maybe his mate really was starting to rub off on him. Oh well. 

Deaton seemed to notice this as well, as he had raised a brow as he watched the young boy, clearing his throat after a moment. "Yes, well… anyway… your early transformation into a wolf, something that it takes even the most advanced of born wolves years, decades even to accomplish, the color of your eyes, I found a connection in an ancient text. Its been regarded as legend, scripture almost, by the druids for eons, dating back to the time of Lycaon himself." 

Stiles blinked, his arms dropping. "Shit." 

"Indeed." Deaton murmured. He moved over to a table that Derek usually used to put a huge container of Gatorade or water on and plastic cups for when they all got thirsty during workouts. It was empty right now, and the man reached into his satchel to pull out an old tome. It was written on yellowed, weathered and leathery looking parchment, cracked and torn from age with faded writing and illuminations from the middle ages. "This is a recounting of the story." he said as Stiles joined him, looking over his shoulder at the young man. "Before the druids could aide Lycaon in his quest to shift back from wolf to human, they had to undergo the shift themselves, figure out how it worked. They allowed themselves to be bitten, and immediately their change took hold. However, unlike Lycaon and his sons, who were all black wolves, the former druids were all white or grey furred. They were able to managed the shift back to human using their magics, and were able to teach the other werewolves how as well." 

Stiles blinked at this news. "Druids." He said. 

Deaton nodded. "Yes, and these druids, werewolves themselves, were from then on called the Blaidd Gwyn. They were thought to have died out, having intermingled with either human or other werewolf families over time as the species expanded. Wolves that could accomplish full shift have usually been black furred, and no white have appeared in thousands of years. Until now." 

Stiles was watching him with raised brows now. "And you think I'm a Blade Gwen?" 

Deaton smiled at his terrible pronunciation. "Blaidd Gwyn, yes." 

"But I'm not a druid. I don't have any magic." he told the vet, holding his hands out to his sides. 

"That’s where you're wrong. You were the one picking up on what I was, my techniques, even before anyone else knew I was a druid." Deaton informed, giving a knowing smirk. "You were being trained to be an Emmissary. You were keeping Derek honest, and he needed that, being an alpha. You were a perfect fit for the job." 

"Woah.. Wait, what? You mean the mountain ash?" 

"And all the research." Deaton nodded. 

Stiles blinked. 

"You were always the first one to figure everything out, Stiles," Deaton told him. "Always. You were always meant to be someone important to this pack, whether you believe it or not. Everyone could feel it, even if you couldn't." 

A soft smile came to Stiles' face then, and he looked down toward his feet on the cold concrete floor. This is a lot to take in, the thought that this whole thing might have been all preordained or something. Fate. If it was, then fate had a funny way of showing that he was special or whatever it was trying to prove by making him a white wolf after receiving the bite. After making him get attacked. Was all that really necessary? Just to tell him he was some sort of fancy pants druid thing? He certainly didn't think so. 

"What about my eyes?" he asked after a moment. 

"A layover of the magic inside of you. That's the thing, your body cannot be vessel to two forces at once. What was true for the Nogitsune is true for most magical creatures. If you're a werewolf, you can't be a druid. It’s the supernatural world's way of balancing itself out. However, you still have enough magic in you for one more spell. The Nematon decided to give you a powerful one at that. One that's only been theorized before. I've heard it's happened in the wolf world, but not exactly like this." 

"Ok…." Stiles murmured, wishing that the vet would stop talking in riddles for now. 

"You only have one alpha eye even though you're an alpha by proxy because you have the ability to steal another alpha's power without killing him through your bite." Deaton told him. 

Both of the wolves stared at him then. 

"What?!" Stiles shouted. 

"The Nematon believes that one of the alphas in Beacon Hills does not deserve their power any longer, and it created a Blaidd Gwyn to mitigate the problem." The old Druid informed, turning the page and showing an illuminated print - a medieval interpretation of what a Blaidd Gwyn was supposed to look like. The wolves on the page were yellowed with age, like the rest of the parchment, but it was clear they were supposed to be white, with fangs and claws… it actually looked like an image that Stiles had seen of the Beast of Gevodan when he'd originally been researching werewolves when Scott had been bitten. That seemed like so long ago. The only difference was the color. Some of them had little patches of other color upon them. Most had yellow eyes of a beta, though he did spot one or two alphas in the mix. "Now, Alphas can, theoretically give their power up to another, it’s a legend that has been passed down through generations, but I don't know of anyone that’s done it and survived, or even attempted it for fear of it for that matter-" Deaton started again, once the young alpha seemed to have gotten the picture. 

"Derek's done it." Cora murmured. She looked over at Deaton, who rose a brow at her. "Last year. He gave up his power to save my life." 

"So that's what happened…" Stiles had wondered, but he'd never asked about how Cora had suddenly gotten better to be able to help them; where Derek's alpha glow had gone. He should have known… but there had been a lot to deal with at that point. 

Deaton let out a musing sound, low in his throat. "Yes, well… in any case, there is also a legend that states that a one-eyed alpha will be able to syphon the power from another, and allow himself to become whole, in the process he will heal the land of his birth." 

"Let me guess, ancient prophecy?" Stiles asked. Deaton nodded absently in return. "Great."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... Here it is boys and girls, chapter 12.
> 
> Got a bit of a chance to work on it after I had an EKG run the other day. It was done because one of my meds can cause heart complications - and it turns out that it may have actually uncovered something that has gone undiagnosed my entire life. Turns out that the back-beat of my heart, called the t-wave (when the heart resets itself between beats) is actually inverted, which could be a symptom of an undiagnosed central nervous system disorder.
> 
> Which literally just... explains everything else wrong with me. 
> 
> Anyway, anyone following me on my tumblr already knows this, and anyone keeping track of my gofundme also already knows this, but I'm just keeping everybody up to date. 
> 
> This means that having the puppy to train sooner rather than later would be the best thing for me. Soooooo... you guys are getting this link again XD. Thanks to everyone who's already read my story/shared it with their friends and family. If you could please keep doing so, spreading the word and keeping this going, it would mean the world to me. Anyone who could donate also, even just a little bit, I would be eternally grateful for. Goals are now clearly marked so you can see where your money is going. gofund.me/trainingforrollo
> 
> Thanks so much and I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Derek sat back as far as the rickety old kitchen chair would allow as Deaton went over what his research had uncovered with him for a second time. Stiles had to admit, for how shocking of a revelation all of this was, the alpha was taking it all in stride. Or at least, he appeared to be doing so. Though his hair was mussed from his pillow still, and his wife-beater was clinging to his abdomen in several ways that made the teenager just want to tell everyone else to get the hell out of their loft, there was a cool pensivity about the older man's face, particularly those dark, bushy brows of his. They bunched together in thought as the wolf reached over for sugar to put into his coffee, which caused a wrinkle to appear in Stiles' brow, but not much of a reaction from any of the others gathered there. After putting the mug down, his arms went back to their normal crossed posture resting over his chest as one leg crossed over the other, bare foot tapping silently at the air.

It was sort of distracting, but not as much as the chest lain bare underneath those arms. Derek hadn't gotten up that long ago it seemed, and had yet to dress or make anything for breakfast. In fact, he'd just been coming out of the bathroom when Cora, Stiles and Deaton had entered the loft, gazing at them curiously as the coffee pot had chimed and he'd rubbed one of his sleep-softened hazel eyes. Stiles believed he'd never get over the pretty package that his mate was wrapped up in. He was lucky, truly blessed to have come out of this lottery with Derek Hale as the one he could hang his hat on. 

He'd wanted so badly to slink into that sumptuous lap that was offered up to him as Derek had sat down with a yawn and his mug of coffee, but there was something telling him that it wouldn't be appropriate given the situation. Instead he'd taken up the seat across the table from the darker wolf, his honey colored eyes keyed in to the man's change of facial expression and posture. Derek had never been much for talking as long as Stiles had known him, but he said so much with non verbal cues that it certainly made up for everything. From the way he lidded his eyes when he was exasperated, to how he scratched at the scruff on his cheek when he was bored. It was all very telling, if you knew what to look for. 

After Deaton was done, the alpha gave that cool, oddly appraising glance of his, tilting his head back so that he could look down his nose slightly at the vet. Deaton was the only one still standing in the flat, as Cora had over the leather sofa and was kneeling against the back of it, her chin and fingers resting upon its edge and her eyes twinkling with hidden mirth. Since her arrival back in Beacon Hills they had yet to actually run in to Scott, but she seemed to be looking forward to the day that they did. Especially with what they had just learned. She had been itching for it since she'd heard what he'd done to Stiles, and about the teen's importance to her brother. 

Derek, meanwhile, was cool as a cucumber. "So, you're telling me that because of a few lessons you gave Stiles intermittently over the last few years, that he has stored up enough magical energy to actually pull off stealing an alpha's power?" he asked. As he said this, he didn't even attempt to give a glance in his mate's direction. He knew that Stiles was watching him, that his sister was watching him, appraising him in this moment, trying to gauge his reactions. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be giving them, what they expected of him. However, there was the smell of disappointment, even hurt when he said the words. 

He looked up, his brows hitching together in confusion, to see Stiles in his place across the distressed table, his eyes averting, and immediately he realized what he'd said, what had happened in the boy's mind. And he cursed himself for it. Of course after everything that had happened he'd take those few words to mean something far more damaging than he had meant. "Stiles." he murmured, voice soft, causing the teen to raise his head, though his eyes only met his for an instant before looking away again. "Come here." 

He watched as the teen looked for a moment as if he would curl himself into a ball in his chair, but then, instead, driven on by some tiny noise, a soft keen deep in his throat. It was an animalistic sound, but one of longing, one that he knew the wolf within the boy would respond to. That Stiles would respond to instinctually. He watched the tiniest of motions play out in his mate, the slowest rise of the man's body as he slid from his chair and made is way with minute steps over to him. Oh so gently he sank down into his lap as Derek opened his arms to Stiles, curling them back up around him. He seemed tense, but not overly so. There was no trembling, no sniffling, which was a good sign in Derek's eyes. But he had still inadvertently hurt the boy, and he hated himself for that. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Stiles. He cupped the back of the boy's head with his hand, cradling it to his shoulder as his other arm moved around his hips. "I didn't mean for that to sound harsh, I love you…" 

He felt the soft tip of Stiles' nose run against the side of his throat. "I know. I love you too." he whispered back, making a soft sound. Derek smiled against his mate's exposed shoulder. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be… don't ever be. Not with me." 

Stiles gave a little nod against his shoulder. "Ok." he said, his voice very quiet. 

Derek turned his head then, to press his lips into Stiles' neck in a soft kiss. He gave him a gentle nuzzle afterward, and then a second kiss before turning back to Deaton. His throat cleared roughly and he frowned at the veterinarian standing in front of them. "Alright, so your emissary training took root and stayed through the Bite?" he asked, choosing his words more carefully this time. 

Deaton gave a slight nod, having watched the comforting display given off by the two wolves. It warmed his heart to see Derek so unabashedly coming out of his shell, like he hadn't seen since the Hale had been a young Beta, just trying to find his way when his powers had first manifested themselves. He was glad to see that nurturing side, that side of him that was all Talia, come out once more. Not that Derek's father hadn't been a good man, but sheer brute strength and physicality could only get you so far, as Derek himself had figured out the hard way in his life so far. Seeing him go back to his roots, back to what had truly made him, was encouraging. And it was definitely what Stiles needed. As he had told the boy several years before, a little bit of belief, a spark, that was all it took to make things come to fruition. At least for a druid, for an emissary. It was true that Stiles had gotten a few good kicks in the teeth recently, and that it had truly crushed him down to the dust of his very marrow, but all he needed was for someone to believe in him again, so that he could believe in himself. 

And Derek and the rest of the Hales were that spark for him. He could see it at work even now in how relaxed the boy was against the larger male, his arms thrown haphazardly over Derek's shoulders and one eye gently watching him from over his own shoulder. A shining, red alpha eye, half lidded in contentment as what was visible of the boy's nose twitched, taking in his mate's scent as it worked to soothe him the rest of the way. 

"It must have," the vet finally managed to make himself say. "Considering everything that has gone on, it's the only thing that makes sense." He took a step closer to them, gently tapping the ancient manuscript that he had brought with them, right on the drawing of the white wolf that was on the page he had opened it up to to show Derek. "You said it yourself, when you brought him to me that first full moon night, you'd never seen a white wolf before. It’s a rare enough ability to complete a full shift, taking years, decades even of practice with wolves that are born to the gift like yourself, like your mother, and yet Stiles was able to do it without even thinking his first full moon?" 

He watched Derek's eyes shift down to the tome, even as his fingers traced over the curve of Stiles' spine, ever trying to make up for the harsh words he'd spoken earlier. No wonder Stiles was so eager to forgive the man. He knew very well Derek didn't mean what he had said, and knew how well he made up for his misdeeds. A heartening sight indeed. 

"There is not only that, but the reasoning behind his single red eye where before…" 

Stiles tensed. He knew what they were thinking. 

"They were both blue before I changed." 

"They were blue after you changed too," Derek told him, leaning over and pressing his lips to the soft skin of the teen's throat. 

"It's what made me change. I saw my eyes…" 

"It wasn't your fault. You were being controlled." Derek kissed him again. "We talked about this." He was quiet for a moment before he added - "And even Jackson's eyes were blue when he first changed. He was controlled too, remember?" 

The teen in his arms turned a bit, so that he could look his mate in the eye, his head cocking to one side. For a moment, Deaton wondered if Derek might have said the wrong thing, but then he saw a quirk come to Stiles' lips, a softness come to his eyes as the supernatural color drained from them. His body sagged as the tension drained out, and Stiles took hold of Derek's face in both hands, thumbs rubbing over the bare line of the apples of his cheeks with reverent tenderness as he brought the older man in close and kissed him deeply. It lasted long enough that Deaton began to wonder if he should leave, feeling as if he was interrupting something precious and private between the two alphas, something needed ever so desperately. 

But Cora didn't seem to think the same, so he decided to wait it out, though he did take a few slow steps away from the two werewolves, giving them a personal bubble that seemed to be greatly appreciated at the moment. 

When at last they did break apart, it was with a contented growl from the younger wolf, who smiled as he closed his eyes and curled up as small as he could against Derek's chest, settling himself down for the remainder of the conversation as if he didn't have a care in the world. Derek, for his part, looked a bit pink in the cheeks, perhaps embarrassed by his mate's timing of affections, but even so he was smiling too as he rested an arm gently across the bend in Stiles' spine, lazily making sure that his partner remained cemented in place against him as his eyes rolled slowly back up to grasp the attention of the veterinarian. 

"What happened last-" 

Deaton rose a hand then to silence the alpha, bowing his head in respect to his power - Derek had been put out enough this morning, especially in the last few minutes - "You don't need to explain. Trust me, I've gotten enough of the picture from my interactions with you both." he told the man instead. 

Derek gave a nod in gratitude, pressing his lips to the sweat mussed mop that was the top of Stiles' head. 

A smile came to the veterinarian's face as he saw this, and he let Derek hold on to his mate for another quiet moment before he went on. "Aside from the other obvious points, the fact that Stiles' eyes changed color after he made it to the Nematon on the night of his first full moon, the conversation between himself and Talia… the fact that she even manifested herself to him and was able to speak to him so clearly. All of this points to this having been orchestrated, prophesized to have occurred." 

Derek's eyes narrowed. "Stiles is not some part of a conspiracy." he said. 

"No, but he may be part of your mother's plan. A plan that has been in place for a long time now." 

"Something you weren't privy to?" Derek asked dubiously, raising a brow at him. "Weren't you her Emissary?" 

Deaton sighed. "I read the energy of the earth for her, yes, but there are certain things that even I don't have the power for. The world words in mysterious ways, Derek." His voice was soft as he looked down to Stiles' face, which was relaxed, the pensiveness having drained out of it in a dazed snooze. "But one thing is for sure. Nature is attempting to balance itself out, whether or not your mother had a hand in it through the Nematon. There is an Alpha in Beacon Hills that does not deserve their power, and Stiles was created to eliminate the threat." He gave a soft nod then, and headed for the door. On the way by, he patted the Alpha's free shoulder gently, not wishing to disturb the dozing teen in his lap. 

Cora watched as the older man left the loft, her eyes slowly moving back to her brother, who had buried his nose into the nape of his mate's neck, taking in the musty scent left over from his work out as it clung to his skin there. "Well?" she asked. 

Derek's eyes flicked open in her direction, and an eyebrow raised as if to ask her 'well, what?'. He didn't vocalize the question, being too close to Stiles' ear, and not wanting to wake him. 

"What do you think of all of this? I mean, really think, Derek?" She asked. 

"I think we're putting too much stress on Stiles, is what I think." He big brother murmured, moving to sit forward in his chair. He stood, shifting an arm underneath his mate to bear his weight while the other held him against his chest. The falls of his feet are near silent as he moves toward the bed, bending gently so that he can let Stiles sink into the mattress and the fresh flannel sheets that he'd put on it last night. He watches the teen curl up, making odd motions like a cuttlefish near the bottom of the ocean before he reached the bundle of top sheet that had been laying over the top Derek's body earlier and had just been tossed aside when he got up. He hooked them together with his arm and used them as a makeshift pillow, nodding into them and taking great swallows of Derek's scent from them. Standing above him, the older Alpha could do little but shake his head in a show of affection before turning back to face his sister. "He's been through too much recently. He needs to take a step back and just let things come to him." 

Cora looked up at Derek where he stood, having pivoted in her place slightly as she watched him. "Do we have time to let him do that?" she asked. "You said things were bad with him and Scott. Adding what Lydia told us and what Deaton's been saying… I don't know. I don't think Stiles gets time to adjust anymore." 

She watched as Derek's eyes turned red as he came over to her and sat down at her side, gentle growl skimming the surface of his throat. 

"Look, I'm sorry. I know that that isn't what you want to hear, or what he needs. Trust me, I know." She gave a sigh out of her nose, reaching up to pinch the bridge of it. "I want nothing more than to let him get used to everything, but we both know that sometimes that isn't how life works out for werewolves, not by a long shot. Maybe in Mom and Dad's time but…" 

Derek frowned, looking down at his feet. "I get what you're saying." he glowers, low grumble leaving his throat as he sits there, eyes turning over toward where his mate was curled up around the stockpile of his scent in the sheets. "As much as I want to baby him, I can't…. This is war. Its not what they would have wanted for us, for any werewolf, especially in their own territory. I can't bring myself to believe that Mom would have put someone that she thought could be my mate in danger this way, but what's done is done and the only option we have is to see through the path that's set before us." 

"As mom would say." Cora sighed, leaning over against her brother and giving a heavy sigh. She looked up at him, shaking her head a bit. "When did you get to be so wise?" 

A smile parted Derek's lips. It was small, and cold, nowhere near the true smiles she'd seen him wearing recently, the ones that she'd grown to love as she watched him give them to Stiles in order to bolster his mate's mood or self esteem. He had become soft in a way that didn't impede on his strength. A way that would have made their parents so proud. He was nurturing and kind. Loving. Caring, careful even. Far from the brother she had grown up with, or the one she had seen last time she was here. Apart from when they'd heard the banshee scream, of course. 

"Around about the time I realized it was stupid to hold on to power if there was no one there to share it with." He told her, green hazel eyes flicking up to meet her own, pensive gaze. He looked down then. "I know I can't protect him." 

"But you love him, and that's what makes it hard." 

Derek nods, and allows his sister to lean over against his shoulder, a sigh passing from his lungs. "I don't want to make him fight," he grumbles, leaning back and running his hands over his face in a sign of defeat. 

"From what you've told me has been going on, you probably won't have to." Cora murmured, running her hands over Derek's massive shoulders. She leans over, gives him a soft kiss on the cheek, and moves to get up. "You want something to eat? I know Stiles has got to be starving, and having just gotten up…?" 

Derek gave a bit of a shrug. 

"Oh, come on, Der…" 

He looked over at her as she stood fully above him, and gave her another weak smile. "Make or get whatever you want. I'm sure we'll both eat it." He said. "Peter would probably appreciate something as well." 

"Right." Cora murmured, nodding. 

Derek continued to lean back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he listened to the falls of his sister's feet. He knew that she was being loud on purpose - their mother had taught them how to move through their world silently when they needed to, but she was trying to do this for his benefit. Stiles was quiet where he lay on the bed, and so this was her way of keeping him company. That was, up until the point where he didn't hear her footsteps anymore. He gave a soft groan, realizing what she must have done. That she had to have gone out to get something for them to eat. He couldn't remember a time when Cora had ever had an interest in cooking, or a time when she had ever been good at it when she had had an interest, for that matter. She'd burned water before, set dried pasta on fire, somehow managed not to detect when a batch of eggs had gone off and tried to make Talia scrambled eggs one morning for breakfast all by herself. The result had been a noxious goop that had made the entire mansion stick of rot for weeks and had gotten everyone who had laid eyes on it or anywhere near it, aside form Cora herself, sick as a dog for two days. It had been enough to have some members of the family wondering if she had put wolfsbane in them, though of course she hadn't. That was the first thing that any young Hale - werewolf or not - was taught to identify and avoid if at all possible. 

He must have fallen into a daze as he sat there, his eyes lazily lidded and gazing up at the ceilings. His breathing was light and shuddering and he worked himself into a state of relaxation. Cora was right. He didn't want to make Stiles fight, but there was probably no choice in the matter. He had been placed in this situation, and he had to bring himself out of it. The most that Derek could do was be there to support him when he needed it. To fight by his side if he asked for it. 

As he breathed, something came to his nose. A scent that hadn't crossed his path for months. One that he had come to associate with anger, hatred even. A growl worked its way out of his throat as he spun himself up and off of the sofa, moving to face the new threat. 

The form that was standing in the doorway of the loft tensed, hunkering down in a low, defensive crouch, soft whimper escaping its throat. His eyes flared their dangerous alpha red at the intruder to his territory, and he gave a snarl as he narrowed the space between himself and the other. The smaller, weaker male at his door. 

"What in the hell are you doing here, Isaac?" His scent here was not welcome, not after what he'd willingly participated in. The young Lahey may have been Derek's beta once upon a time, may have been his first success story and indeed his first attempt at reclaiming his missing past and pack, his first attempt at friendship, but after what he'd done, the broken pieces of Stiles he'd left in his wake. There was no forgiveness for him now. Not here, not even if Isaac had come to see the error of his ways, how incredibly wrong he had been, how foolish and stubborn. Stupid even. 

The only thing going through his mind at that moment was that this entire time, Isaac should have known better. 

He of all people, who had seen the ugliness the world had had to offer up. 

He should have known. 

Derek watched the sad, scared glow of the beta's yellow eyes before him as he cowered against the frame of the door. It was something that Isaac had yet to get over. He may have gotten stronger, both physically and mentally, but his emotions, thanks to the beatings that his father had dished out to him, had left them stunted and weak. It was perhaps why he had sought to become a werewolf in the first place, wanting the protection that a pack could bring, but also thinking that the extra strength and speed would make up for his other handicaps. 

He had obviously been mistaken. 

"Derek…" the boy squeaked out, attempting to cower back farther, if it were even possible, without tripping over the stairs behind him. 

"You have three seconds to tell me what it is you think you're doing showing your face here before I rip your throat out." His eyes were glaring menacing blood red, he could see them reflected in the teen's shaking blue irises as he advanced upon him again, one silent footfall after another. The perfect stealth predator. His nostrils flared as he took in a breath, the scent of fear pungent in his nose, almost as ripe and acrid as the scent of - 

Was that blood? 

Isaac plastered himself against the frame of the door, swallowing hard. One of his hands was clutched tightly at the elbow of the opposing arm, and blood was pooling between his fingers as he clamped it over the sleeve of his sweater. "Derek I…" He swallowed. "I wouldn't have come here if I had a choice…" He said, his eyes downcast. It was the complete opposite of what the alpha had come to expect of the boy since he had been turned. He looked scared and afraid. 

Broken down, completely. 

He watched as Isaac's trembling eyes shifted upward and over to the bed where Stiles was sleeping, curled soundly with his back facing them. "I wouldn't have come here. I know I'm not welcome, that I've done some terrible and-" 

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, and you know it." Derek growled, though he found the sound was loosing a bit of its edge at seeing and smelling the blood as well as the fact that his original beta was in pain. Despite the fact that Isaac had turned tail and given his allegiance over to Scott, Derek still felt a bit of loyalty toward the boy. He had been through enough in his life, Isaac had, without people turning their backs on him left and right. And besides, wolves were naturally loyal creatures to begin with. Perhaps born wolves more than others. 

Isaac lowered his head then, and nodded. "Of course. Yea. Stiles." He murmured. "I can understand you not wanting me to be around him because of that, or you. What we did… it was terrible. I was hurting, because of Allison and I should have known better, because of what happened with the flies. It wasn't his fault and I shouldn't have treated him like the enemy." He added. 

"All valid points that you could have come to months ago, before he ever needed the bite." 

Isaac physically winced when Derek brought this up. "And things just escalated when he became one of us. I know. I should have stopped. I shouldn't have let Scott railroad me." 

"No, you shouldn't have." Derek hissed through his teeth. 

"Stop." The voice from behind him was gentle, but strong. Cold, with a slightly menacing edge to it. "You aren't proving any points by lowering yourself to a bully's viewpoint, Derek." The alpha happened a glance over his broadly muscled shoulder, reddened gaze sparking upon the loose stance of his mate. Stiles looked, for all his glory, sleep mussed and if he was still more than half in the land of dreamers as he leaned against the support beam nearest the bed he'd just been laying upon. His arms were wrapped around the old, splintered wood, his head resting against the cool metal of the alarm box. "You're better than that." 

A soft smile came to the alpha's face then, and he nodded, backing away from the scared teen and moving closed to his mate. He nuzzled against Stiles' cheek when he got close enough, reveling in the feel of the younger man's arms moving from around the wooden beam to around his neck. 

"I'm sorry if we woke you." he whispered. 

Stiles just shook his head against Derek's shoulders, his way of telling him that all was forgiven. "I don't need the extra sleep anyway." he joked. 

Derek let out a soft grumble as he reached up, running his hand over Stiles' hair. "I would have let you." 

He broke them apart then, moving off to the side so that he could watch the interaction between the two teens carefully. This needed to happen, but there was no way in hell he was leaving the two of them alone, and if Isaac thought that that was going to be happening, he was beyond crazy. 

Stiles stood there, watched him move away with a fore lorned glance in his honeyed eyes. He reached out gently, but let his hand drop as soon as it looked like the older man wasn't going to be coming back to him any time soon. His eyes rolled with the arc of his head then, toward where Isaac was standing against the doorframe. 

"So? I assume Scott found you less than useful?" he asked the younger man then, gesturing with one hand to the beta as he stood in the doorway to their sanctum. It was obvious that if Derek could smell the blood, so could Stiles. 

Isaac gave a bit of a gulp, and pressed off from his position at the door, though he stayed close to the threshold, body language reading how intimidated he was. "Yea… you could say that." he murmured, taking his hand away from the wound at his arm. There were tears in his grey-striped sweater, a staple to his wardrobe, and deep gouges in his arm that looked as if they had started to heal a bit, but the process had then seemed to have arrested. To say the least it looked painful, and had stained the garment probably beyond repair. "I told him Lydia had probably made the right choice, siding with someone who'd always believed in her and who wasn't just using her. Probably wasn't the best choice of words…" 

Stiles sniggered at that. "Yea, no… don't think so." he murmured, lifting his brows. 

The taller teen gave a little smirk, and then looked down. "I wanted to apologize, Stiles." he said, "for my part in what happened. For what I said and did and for not seeing that it wasn't your fault. For being so blind." He sighed. "Not just because of what happened then, but because of the things my dad did after Camden died. I should have been more accountable and I should have stood up to him sooner." 

Derek eyed his mate's body language closely then. He needed to be sure that nothing would happen. He doubted that Stiles would react with violence toward Isaac, but with the amount of pain he'd been dealing with the past few months, both physically and emotionally, it was hard to tell. He knew a great many things had been said that if he had been the one to be on the receiving end of, he would never forgive. Nor would he forget. 

The youngest wolf there, however, just softened his shoulders in an immense sigh after a long silence. He moved over toward Isaac, and Derek couldn't read his expression at all because, well, he'd moved over to lean against his desk which he'd moved back in front of the windows. His interest was piqued as Stiles moved over to where Isaac was standing, and he could feel tension mount in his gut as he refused to let his eyes drift away from the two of them just incase something were to happen. But then… 

Stiles' arms wrapped around Isaac's lean shoulders in a squeeze. "It's ok, man. I probably would have done the same thing." he said, his voice only partially audible from behind his own bulk and where he was pressed against the other wolf. He patted his open hand against Isaac's back before letting go and leading him over to the kitchen table. "Come on, get that sweater off so the fabric doesn't heal into it." 

Derek shook his head with a keen fondness as he watched the two young men, unable to hold in his pride in his mate, and how easily that had gone. Considering the things that Stiles had gone through, this was amazing. He watched his mate move over and help Isaac out of his sweater and then get the other wolf a glass of water. Derek got up and joined them, moving over and kissing the top of Stiles' head. 

"You uhmn… you guys, huh?" 

"Isaac. Shut up." Stiles voice was soft around a smile as he guided himself into another chair - just as Cora was walking in with bags of food from one of their favorite Italian places, halfway across town. 

"So by the time I got to a place that served breakfast, it was lunch time, so I figured I might as well-" She started, but then froze as she took in Isaac's presence in the middle of her brother's den. "What is he doing here?" 

"Apologizing." Derek told her. "Don't worry, I supervised." 

There was a narrowed glance that epitomized the dirtiest of looks that he had ever seen his sister give that had been shot at Isaac's back. "Good." She grumbled, and dropped the bags on the counter. "And I suppose it's a good thing that I got enough to feed the whole lot of us. Including Lydia and Isaac." 

Hearing her words, Isaac gave a tiny little smile. "Thank you." 

"Don't thank me. Thank everyone being hungry." Cora said, starting to unload the bags. The entire loft began to fill up with the scents of marinara, alfredo, garlic, rosemary, thyme, and even- 

"Oh Cora… is that calamari?" Stiles asked as he watched a particularly steamy, aluminum bottomed container come out of the bag. 

"Yes, it is." she smiled, holding it out. A chuckle parted from her throat as she watched him reach out to take it and then scurry over to the sofa to plunk down, curling up by one of the high arms and starting to dig in. 

"What if I wanted some of that?" Derek asked, to which he got an arm sticking up in answer, a baby squid in his fingers waving around. 

"Come and get it, big bad wolf."


	13. PLACEHOLDER FOR EDITS

OH DEAR GOD GUYS I AM SO SORRY!

I did not mean to be gone this long at all, I got so very insanely busy that it wasn't even funny. This is just a placeholder for now while I reread to refamiliarize myself with what the hell I was doing, and then start writing again. 

Few short updates on my life in case anyone is interested-

1\. Things didn't work out with Rollo, he ended up having to be brought back to the shelter, on my birthday of all days, after he went after and killed my grandmother's cat. I was the one who pried him off. He was doing well in his training, save for the cat thing, and something being up with old men. Turns out the shelter I got him from never told me that he'd been attacked by a cat when he was a puppy... and it turns out that his former owner, who surrendered him after 8 months, presumably when he had gotten too big and powerful, was a man. I ended up having a MASSIVE anxiety attack that day, was basically suicidal for a week, AND had family attacking me about it as if I had set him after the cat on purpose. We had been getting him ready to go out, my mom was picking me up with my sister to go somewhere for my birthday. I later found out that the shelter was trying to find another home for him and again misleading people about what I had been training him for because they apparently never understood it in the first place.

2\. I since got a puppy from a breeder who specializes in service dogs and actually knows what they are doing. He was temperment tested at 9 weeks. His name is Miller and he's a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. He alerts naturally to my anxiety, depression, heart problems and migraines and is the biggest little love ever. He's doing EXTREMELY well in his training, is so kind and smart, and has been going to work with me since he was 11-12 weeks. He turned 6 months today. 

3\. I joined the education/advocacy/retail by the disabled for the disabled company The Extra Spoon on top of my day job. I do badges, stickers, and t-shirt designs for them. I also am hosting an event called "The Superdogs go to ComiCONN", where we will be going to ComiCONN at Foxwoods Resort Casino to educate and advocate for service dogs and the disabled. We are also starting to visit schools with our dogs to educate the next generation. 

4\. I just started taking art commissions to pay for the ComiCONN trips, as there will be three teams, including myself, that will be going to the event. 

Yea, been busy. Without further ado, I'm going to get to reading, and see what I can get up for you guys. I'm not dead, I promise!

-Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter and story title from Egypt Central's "White Rabbit"


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